


Barad Lomin

by teachair (halavana1)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halavana1/pseuds/teachair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1325 of the Third Age.  Life has been uneventful for a very long time.  Too long.  A young woman's decision to leave home to avoid a hateful marriage serves as a catalyst to bring to light the growing dark forces in her hometown.</p><p>Tolkien wrote numerous background variations for his Middle Earth and its characters. Many he completely discarded, but they still remain of interest.  I've snooped around in the books Christopher Tolkien compiled and came up with several "what if..." stories, of which Barad Lomin is one.  It's been a lot of fun exploring Tolkien's Middle Earth.  Much of the background of Barad Lomin sprang from little snippets of stories in Lost Tales, Peoples of Middle Earth and Morgoth's Ring.  </p><p>For anyone interested in locations, the town is located in Minhiriath at the bend of the river Baranduin  straight north of Eryn Vorn, before it flows into the Sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unwanted Arrangement

An Unwanted Arrangement

As a child, Keren Woodman remembered going with her mother to the forest across the river and listening to the music of twilight, or so her mother called it. As if the setting sun and rising moon could play and the stars could sing. Her mother told her it was only the merry making of elves, who traversed the countryside from one elven home to another at the turn of the seasons. Once they even met the singers as they paused on their road. Keren’s mother spoke to them in their language and they invited mother and daughter to eat with them. Keren was in such awe of these beautiful beings, she spoke not at all, but listened with the rapt attention of a 5 year old from behind her mother’s skirt, even when they tried to coax her out. The melodies ranged from sweetly sorrowful to merry dance tunes. The most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. When they returned home, for days Keren wanted to be an elf, dancing and singing in the woods.  
Now she no longer had time for such indulgence, and elves, if they remained on Middle Earth, cared not for singing to daughters of men. Since the death of her mother ten years before, she had known no respite from care of her family. Her elder sisters were married and moved away to Tharbad, Duinbar and Fornost, all wed to knights of King Malvegil or the Prince of Cardolan. Her younger brothers, two years her junior, were somewhat famous in the area, being the only triplets born, and all three living. Twins were common enough to the families of Barad Lomin, but triplets were rare indeed. Even though her younger brothers brought in wives, the bulk of the labor was hers. She awoke before dawn urging the sisters-in-law to rouse themselves and help her attend to the daily chores: milking the cows, cooking, washing, weaving, gardening, visiting ailing relatives, and any other duties the men of the house bestowed upon them. Granted, the sisters-in-law worked well, for they feared their father-in-law more than Keren feared her father. But they did not yet know how to please him, so that task was left to his remaining daughter.  
Five times she was betrothed, and each time the man broke off the engagement. She thought herself ugly, or stupid, or clumsy, or something. There must be something wrong with her to be rejected by five men in one lifetime. Perhaps her father was one cause of the broken betrothals, being so comfortable with her bearing the responsibility for the housework, that he might not wish her to marry. In all truth, when listening to her friends speak with affectionate disillusionment of their husbands and children, she was not certain she wanted to be a wife. But some days, any change seemed better than this servitude.  
Although her father used no violence to rule his house, he was a severe man, giving praise so sparingly and admonishing so abruptly, she felt her every effort a failure. He was an old knight who never learned to play the part of a farmer. Little wonder her elder brothers left home to join the king's service as soon as they were old enough. Embittered from his long years of knighthood, he refused to allow his youngest sons to join either king or prince, finding them wives at the unheard of young age of eighteen. If permitted, Keren would have gone with her elder brothers, but it was said neither king nor prince had place for women in his army. All they taught her remained unused.  
One day after the harvest, Keren's father called her to him. She went without question and stood quietly before him, hands clasped at her waist, wondering how she, or a sister-in-law, had earned his displeasure this time, waiting till he should look up from his harness mending.  
"Miller's son lacks a wife," he began without raising his eyes and immediately Keren's hands dropped to her sides. "He’s nearby and I think it best that, as you are my youngest daughter, I should like you near me. The property adjoins mine and will, in due time, be joined to it. Miller has only one son. I think you know him."  
She did indeed, and a sorrier husband she could not have imagined for her worst enemy. Even in time of want he was fat, while his parents grew thin and weak. A onetime companion of her brothers, he never missed his chance to scorn her. He found it unbearable when she bested him in archery, and her brothers laughed at him. It amused her father as well, who was a good humored man before the death of his wife and bitterness claimed him. Her mother thought it useful for a daughter to learn the same skills as the boys. Keren could outrun, out-hike, outdo Miller’s son in everything when they were children. Though all that changed by the time he became a man, he never forgave her for it. And now he wanted her for his wife?!  
Miller's son was thought of well by many men, for he could tell a story to entertain the most discerning listener at The Ringing Well, the local tavern. But in her eyes he was a hypocrite, for though he spoke movingly about King Malvegil and the Prince of Cardolan and the necessity to support those who sacrificed so much in their service protecting the realms from evil doers, little did he practice it in private. He bestowed great gifts upon the poor in public, then stole them back in many conniving ways. Now her father had fallen under the man's influence and it stunned her. She thought of the five men who had been her suitors and began to suspect that this neighbor's son may have had a hand in the troth-breaking. Her first love, who had requested her hand before the death of her mother, was slain a fortnight after the breach, bearing tokens and gifts with which to renew his betrothal. Rumor said he had spoken with Millerson before his death, but she could not prove it.  
"So, daughter. Why look you so grim and care worn? You're to be married finally. Be glad."  
"I would be glad, father, if it were to a man of my liking. What is the reason for the choice?"  
"I’ve told you. He is near and I wish to join lands," her father said, looking up sharply, his hands halted in their work. She had never questioned him thus before.  
"No doubt those are the arguments he used to sway you, but I trust him not at all."  
"Trust or no, you’re to wed in a month."  
She stepped backward, clenching her fists to keep her hands from trembling. "So soon, father?"  
"It’s as I wish. He’s provided the bride price. Now go about your business. Go." With this dismissal, he lowered his head to take up his repairs once more.  
She bowed her head and went from the room, troubled in her heart what this bride price could be, for Miller was rich and could afford any woman in the land for his son. He had only to speak to any father and the woman would be delivered, though all of her friends would rather throw themselves into the deep river Baranduin which flowed near Barad Lomin. Perhaps Millerson had waited until she was older than most men would wish and thinking her desperate, expected her to accept anyone. But five men had requested her hand, good men who would have made her a happy wife and mother. Yet something had turned them away. This neighbor's son could be responsible. It was a cruel jest fitting for him. Keren determined to be far from her father's house when this scoundrel came to fetch her.  
Her determination to escape this marriage was strengthened when she took vegetables to the green grocer to sell. She bargained with the grocer's wife for each of the different types of produce she brought until both felt they were neither cheating nor being cheated. As was the usual way on market day, the good woman, Mrs. Green, invited Keren for a cup of tea. Keren often brought the best of the fruit for the grocer's wife to make pies and tarts and jellies and jams and all such other things as she loved to make and sell, and together they made a nice little profit. On this day after they divided their income, the woman urged her a bit more strongly than usual and Keren, feeling the urgency yet choosing to not understand it, said most surely she would love to visit with her on any topic she wished.  
"That's a good lass. You were ever a congenial sort. You become more and more like your mother each year. I shall miss you."  
Keren wondered at this, for she had secretly stored up rations of waybread, draughts and other travel necessities, telling no one of her plan. "Miss me? Why, where am you going?" she asked, trying to discover how much Mrs. Green knew or suspected.  
"I? Not I. You, to the dog," said Mrs. Green, with a scowl. "None of us think that scoundrel will let you roam about as you do now. What's come over your father that he should give you over to such a louse?"  
"I think I should be cautious what I say of my intended, for though I love him not at all, I would not stir his wrath so soon."  
"He'll be the death of your father for sure. The best you could do would be to fly away, to your mother's people who still live near Old Annuminas. None of us would breath a word to him if you did."  
"We’ll see what the days unfold," Keren answered and would say no more of the matter.  
Upon leaving the grocer's home, she went to several shops where she purchased such things as her family needed. The last was the wine merchant. She had made her selection, paid with the proper coins and would have left but a familiar voice held her attention. It was low and resonant, coming from a room behind the clerk's table. The wine merchant's daughter-in-law, a good friend named Reina, put a finger to her lips and they listened.  
"...Yes, well, that's all well and good, but you'll never get the whole property. There are the brothers to contend with. They'll not give up their inheritance lightly,” said the voice of the merchant.  
"Leave that to me. The older sons haven't been seen for years, on errantry for the King of Arthedain. They've other matters to contend with, if they're still alive. Besides, they’ve rejected their inheritance in Barad Lomin. Had a quarrel with Old Woodman and they aren’t speaking. My plan will go forward and the father will die, sooner than he may expect," said the low, smooth voice. "The only way to prevent it is for the marriage to be forestalled, and the woman is as meek as a lamb before her father. She'll be likewise for me and won't raise her voice, neither her little finger, to stop me. The wedding will take place as scheduled. Those three young brothers are so spoiled, I’ll deal with them easily enough. Once I've acquired access to the property, I'll set about my designs with no one to gainsay me."  
"Well, I've my own grudges against Old Woodman but ..." The voice of the wine merchant stopped abruptly as the bells of the tower chimed. “There’s that confounded tolling again,” he grumbled. “What I would give to catch the brat aiming rocks at those bells.”  
“Hmph. It’s not even the hour yet. Most likely someone’s little darling fell into the cistern, from the sound of it,” said Millerson.  
Vines laughed and lowering their voices, the two men talked on, unaware of the women listening.  
The eyes of the two women met. Reina nodded grimly and inclined her head toward the door. Keren bowed and quietly went out. Quickly she returned to her cart, which was still hitched near the grocer's and raced back to her father's house.  
Once home, she shut herself in her room and sat and thought, looking at the box which held her few personal belongings and now also concealed the travel things she had yet to move to the barn. The wedding must not only be forestalled, she reasoned. It must never take place. She wondered why mere forestallment would disrupt Millerson's scheme, then chose to put her own plan to work earlier than she originally intended. There was more to this than she could fathom.  
The evening chill in the air made it all the easier to remove the last of her baggage to its place in the milking room. Men seldom went there and her stash was safe. Only her eldest sister-in-law, Morwen, knew of her plans and supported them, for she also liked not even the thought of Millerson's welcome into her home. The girl was now able to take up Keren's responsibilities and willing to do so. That night as they milked the cows, Keren revealed what she had heard and what she intended. Morwen's face became pale.  
"You’re gone none too soon," she said.  
"Perhaps I am gone too soon, though," said Keren, "for it might be better to escape in the nick of time when all think I’m resigned to my fate and look not for the unexpected than to give them such advance to search for me."  
"Where will you go?"  
"Best not to tell even you," answered Keren. "The less you know, the less they can force from you."  
Morwen nodded. When the milking was done they removed the milk to the cool spring house where a pit had been dug to receive the milk containers. They bid their hasty farewells before going to the house, for they dared not make an open show of emotion before Keren’s father. After all had been served and were satisfied with the meal, Keren slipped out again and returned to the milking room, as she often did when she left something undone. Quickly she changed into her travel clothes, then took out a knife. Cutting her waist length auburn hair brought tears to her eyes but once it was done, her hair now shoulder length as many young men wore it, she sighed, brushed the tears away, tied the hair in a knot and tossed it into a corner. The stars were bright when she stepped outside. Keren looked up at them a long moment, took a deep breath and silently set out across the meadow, passed into the trees and was gone.


	2. Stumbling Upon Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keren makes her way northward to her mother's kin living in Annuminas, but is sidetracked.

Stumbling Upon Elves

In her father's house Keren learned to walk silently, for heavy steps of a woman angered him. He often shouted for the cows to go outside where they belonged, until she and her sisters learned to walk softly. He still berated her sisters-in-law occasionally. Now this ability served her well as she journeyed into the woods that grew along the south bank of the Baranduin, disturbing not even a twig on the ground. Once she heard the baying of hounds behind her, but she doubled back on her tracks, leaving a curving, winding trail so as to confound them if they followed her. Thinking it best to confuse what would soon be an old trail and hard to follow, she did her best at this stage to use her time wisely before anyone missed her so that she could make greater distance later. Many hours of her childhood she spent playing with her brothers and sisters in these same woods. She knew them better than any hound could. And she had to admit to herself, the prospect of a long journey was invigorating. Though tired from the day's work, she was a hardy sort accustomed to labor. Her hands were calloused and her back, though slightly bent from heavy labor, was strong. When standing straight, she was considered tall for a woman.  
When she came to the river, she walked across the rope bridge, pausing briefly at the center to watch the water flow beneath. Once on the other side, she took her map from the pouch on her belt. Now the land became less familiar for she had ventured beyond the north shore forest only twice with her mother and father and elder brothers, to visit her mother's family near Lake Evendim, far to the north. The map had been drawn by her mother's father and, though some things had changed, the same landmarks and mile posts stood out in the pale moonlight. Steering in the direction she knew to be due north, she made her way to the Old Highway and followed it. At this time of night she saw no one and set a quick pace, heading for an old inn called The Blue Foot, near a crossroads, which once had been crowded and noisy but now served as a tavern frequented by local farm laborers. In these days few traveled this road, most travelers preferring the New Kingsway which followed the Baranduin, bearing northeast toward Fornost and avoiding the Toe of the Blue Mountains.   
She was admitted at the door and shown to a small garret room where she could leave her belongings. Two travelers held places at the bar, eating their dinner in quiet. Several small clusters of workmen talked, dozed or gazed into space listening to only they knew what. She found a corner and ate, unnoticed by any for her clothes were her brothers discards and she appeared to be a youth on errantry. When two youths asked to share her table, she jerked her chin toward seats, in imitation of her brothers, and finished her meal as they talked and ate. One was dark haired with grey-green eyes and the other had sandy colored hair and blue eyes.  
"So where you headed?" asked the dark haired one, using that truncated speech laborers use with each other.   
"North," she replied after swallowing a bite.   
"What's north?"   
She shrugged, chewing a bit of meat, not willing to answer.   
"So what's your name?" asked the blonde.   
"Just call me Teli. I'll answer." As a child her older brothers enjoyed teaching her how to pass for a boy, though had her parents known how far they went with the game, they would have forbidden it. Her eldest brother especially liked to try to fool others into thinking she was a visiting cousin from another town. Teli was the name he called her then.   
"Well, Teli, I'm Jack and this is..." began the dark haired one.  
"I'll tell my own name, if you don't mind,” said the other. “I'm Sam. We're going south, otherwise we'd ask you to join us. Don't see why you want to go north though. Not much there."  
"That's why I'm going that way. Not much there," said Keren  
"Runaway?" asked Jack, looking keenly at “Teli’s” face.   
"Sent away," said Keren.   
"What for?" asked Sam.  
"Good of the family. What about you? Where you from?" responded Keren.  
The two boys answered evasively and Keren chuckled. "Now that we all know none of us want to be known, let's talk about something else." She couldn't help but laugh at the boys, for their behavior was so like her own brothers.   
Presently the other patrons began to yawn. The main room was clearing as the two guests went to their rest and laborers went home. A very small boy with fuzzy feet scurried to collect the dishes and Keren wondered who, and what, he might be. After a closer look, she saw he was probably her age or older. She heard of such tiny people from her brothers who had seen them only in quick glimpses as they dashed out of sight. This one seemed not at all inclined to speak to her, and being tired, Keren did not wish to force the interview.   
"The inn keeper fished him out of the river last year," said Jack when he noticed the direction of her glance. "Poor fellow was nearly drowned. They think he was washed away at a ford when his family tried to cross. He won’t say much about it though. He's a halfling. They call themselves Hobbits."   
"Heard of them. Never seen one. Poor fellow, to be left alone like that," said Keren  
"We'll be seeing more of them," said Sam. "Trouble in the East sends them looking for safer, quieter lands. Dragons, goblins, strange happenings. His people might come looking for him, if they’re still alive."   
"If they want a place to live and be left alone, as I've heard, I'm sure there's room for them somewhere," Keren yawned and rose from her seat. "Well, good night," she said and waved to her new , though brief, companions, thinking she would not likely see them again. They also saluted her good night and sat drinking their pints and talking softly.   
Keren slept no more than three hours and rose shortly before dawn. As silently as she would in her father's house, she gathered her things and went down to the tavern. Her two new friends were nowhere in sight and others slept on benches at the table, where she and the two boys had eaten, or occupied pallets on the floor. No one stood watch at the door so she left a few coins on the bar and passed into the night. None marked her exit, nor would any care after seeing that she left payment where the barkeep would easily find it. Few cared about the passing of a traveler on this lonely road and she walked at a good pace. Once she heard singing but not wanting to stumble upon an isolated homestead, she continued on until the road forked. She took the road to the left, which was overgrown and dark and bore directly toward the Toe of the Blue Mountains.   
The day dawned and still she traveled, not passing anyone on the road. At about noon she stopped and ate a light meal of waybread, dried meat and wine, leaving not a sign that anyone had been there once she resumed her journey. The day passed and twilight came. The road which once had been clear of trees was now overgrown with young saplings sprouting along the center between the wagon ruts. She pondered the speed with which nature reclaims abandoned places, and was rather glad of it, for it helped conceal her path. She remembered this road was kept clear just fifteen years ago. The dusky approach of evening found her making a bed in a dry, out of the way place near the road and she lay down and slept. When she woke it was still night but the moon shined its light so that she could see her way between the trees.   
Her journey continued in the same manner for the next three days, the scenery changing but little. Sometimes up hill, sometimes down hill, she traversed the countryside, thinking of her family at home and wondering what would befall them when her wedding date came and they could not deliver her to Millerson. She hoped the man would do no more than gossip and threaten but could not be easy in mind about him. As she thought on these matters, gazing about for a suitable place to spend the night she walked off the path a few paces, found herself in the midst of a band of elves making merry, gasped and retreated to the road. She had not seen the light from their fire and it had been kicked out the moment she fled. At least she thought they were elves, for their appearance was much like those she had seen with her mother, and mere mortals could not so quickly extinguish a campfire. Unnerved and unsettled, she decided to move on and not trouble the fair folk. No longer tired enough to take rest, she tramped on, hoping to make enough noise to alert any elf of her coming and give them time to take flight. At any rate she knew where they were and possibly would not disturb them again. In spite of their pleasant experience listening to the elves sing, her mother had cautioned her against trying to approach them, for they were capricious and willful and more powerful than mortals. If they wished to be found all would be well, but if not, they knew powerful spells to make wanderers forget where they were going. Keren intended to avoid them on that account.  
All that night she traveled the wagon ruts which followed a pass between two mountains of The Toe. Near dawn she came to an abandoned inn close to a waterfall and pool. At one time it had been a common place for weary travelers to stop, bathe and rest but now the buildings which once stood by the gate were gone and the gate itself was in extreme disrepair. It made the inn where she spent her first night look almost new. She expected no one to pass on this morning so she bathed and washed her clothes. While waiting for them to dry, she took a light breakfast of dried fruit and spread her map before her on the grass. Her mother had often instructed her to carry three changes of clothing when on a journey: one to wear, one to carry and one to spare. Two of her changes were from her brothers and one was her own, for she did not like to wear men's clothing and would wear her own familiar things when the opportunity arose, as it had on this morning.   
Looking at the map, she combed her hair, thinking how strange it felt to have it so short. Though Keren tried not to think of the knot of hair tossed in a corner of the milk room, she could not help but wonder who might find it. Would Morwen find it and hide it? And how would she fare when they questioned her? Morwen could be stubborn and was the most likely of the three sisters-in-law to stand up to her father’s harsh words. Keren hoped she would be all right.   
With her eyes she followed her journey up until the waterfall. The map was old and well worn, but it showed clearly the lay of the land. Morwen had helped her decide which way to go. She had been surprised that Morwen knew so much about the region. Her sister-in-law had marked points a days journey along the route. At her current pace, Keren would reach Lake Evendim in ten or twelve days. Once she was sure of her way, she changed into her traveling clothes, put on her hat, packed her things and set off again. At dusk she sought a place to sleep and finding one lay down to a peaceful slumber. Again, after only a few hours, she woke and continued her journey. This time after she traveled an hour by the road, again, she stepped into a circle of elves. Now elven light can be seen or not seen, as the elves wish and when she stepped forward, seeing their fair, merry faces turn toward her, she followed her former course of action and fled backward. Their merry making was in array across her path and she could not go forward without passing through the midst of them. If she made a circuit around them, she feared losing herself in the dark of the wood.   
"Not so fast!" a voice called to her.   
"Yes! You fled from us twice. Do not do so again!" said another.   
Twice? she thought. In a flash she was encompassed by as merry a lot of elven folk as any elf seeker could wish, or weary traveler could dread. Her mind ran over all the things her mother told her about what to do "when elves find you" and took comfort in the saying that they find mortals too somber and dull and usually leave them as quickly as they find them, but sometimes not until after hearing all the news said unfortunate mortal could tell. The trick was to speak the truth yet avoid being interesting. She waited quietly for the questioning to begin, looking from one to the other and observing their faces. Now, anyone who has never seen an elf, probably thinks them small and sprightly, but this is a mistake, for only elf children are small. These elves were of varying height but the majority were taller than Keren and slim. They had an ageless look about them and though she saw family resemblance on many faces, she could not tell what relation they held, one to another, for all looked of an age.   
"Well, Teli. Well met again," said one, who looked like Sam in elven guise. "Why did you leave us without even so much as a good morning, by your leave and a farewell? Gave us the slip, you did."   
"We were going to visit my brothers in Eryn Vorn, but altered our plans just for the purpose of seeking you out, so your apology had best be worth the detour," said Jack.   
"I wished to be on my way," she replied.  
"From what?" asked another golden haired elf.  
Never lie to an elf, her mother had said. May as well tell the truth for all the sooner will they tire of the tale and set you free.   
"From my home."   
Sam grabbed the hat off her head and tossed it to one of his fellows before she could spring to retrieve it, and said "Oh? Mortal maid flies from her home. This is news. Why? Did your mother scold you?"   
"My mother is dead."   
A murmur of surprise and compassion rose and fell from the surrounding wood, surprising Keren with the number and variety of voices she heard. "But ten years ago. That is not my reason," she replied  
"Your father has remarried and your stepmother is wicked?" suggested the one with her hat.  
She shook her head.   
"Your father mistreats you," offered Sam.  
Again she shook her head. "My father is harsh, but he mistreats no one."   
"Well, what then! Say! Say!" cried Jack impatiently, then called to the elf with her hat, “Gil, toss me that, let me see it.” When Gil obeyed, Jack tried it on, then tossed it to another.  
"I wish to escape a disagreeable marriage."   
A laugh ranged round the crowd, of more elves than Keren thought remained so close to Barad Lomin.   
"And what of this marriage? To a fat man whom you can not stand to look upon?" said Sam.  
"It is not his looks which repel me."   
"Ho ho hooooo! He repels you!" laughed Jack pulling the pack from her back and opening it to look inside. He then tossed it to Gil as she grabbed for it. "And why does he repel you? Is he a fop? A braggart? A swine?"   
She inclined her head, thinking, wishing to be gone, but without her hat and pack she could not last long in the wilderness, so she bore their jests.   
"Come come now, lass, what is it about him you find so repellent? Mortal maid was ever wont to seek higher than she deserves. What is it?" This one took her walking stick and inspected it, as if to determine the type and age of the wood. He had a viol on a strap slung on his back.   
Jack approached him and inspected the stick as well. “Looks like oak, eh Holly?”   
Holly nodded then looked at Keren again. “Well? What?”  
"I fear..."   
"She fears he will eat all the sweetmeats, that's what she fears," said Gil. He took out a piece of waybread. "Hmm. What's this? Mortal bread. Smells good, but you never know with these mortals..." He took a bite, nodded and passed the partial loaf around.   
"No. That he is a murderer. Now give me my things please, I wish to be gone."   
This stopped them all and they looked at her with wonder in their eyes. She made as if to spring for her stick but instead grabbed her pack. Gil was so startled by this sudden maneuver that it was all he could do to hold on. But quickly he came to himself and with a firm hold on the bag, swung her around and around until she was sent flying toward a tree where she, rather ungracefully, crashed through the leaves of the underbrush and into the trunk, slid down and sat staring at them. Seeing it was pointless to try to get her things, she sighed and rose to her feet. They continued to toss her hat and walking stick between them, passing her pack from one hand to the other, rummaging through it as they did so. She crossed her arms and watched them.   
"Why do you give up?" asked Sam. "You could win them back if you try hard enough. Why don't you try for them?"   
"Because that is what you want. I've tired of entertaining you. "   
The elves shrugged and continued to toss her things over her head as they asked their questions.   
"So, you fear your intended is a murderer. Whom did he murder?" asked Jack.  
"I do not know that he murdered anyone. I said that I fear he did. But I do know that he is a scoundrel who would marry me only because I am the youngest daughter of his neighbor and he wishes to join the properties together. My elder brothers are all gone so there is no one to prevent it. My younger brothers only see the profit of the union. They do not know that he intends to usurp them."   
"And how do you know this?" asked Jack.  
"I heard him say so himself."   
"Bold he is to say so openly," observed Sam. “What say you, Holly?”  
“He is bold indeed, to say the least,” agreed Holly.  
"He did not know I was nearby. I was merely buying wine and speaking with my friend, the merchant’s daughter-in-law. His voice is deep and carries far."   
Her pack, hat and staff continued to fly about, and the elves continued their questions but as she answered them her eyes met those of Holly, and she saw his look change from mirth to mercy. He stepped forward and caught each of the missiles, presenting them to her with an apology.   
"Forgive us for our jests. We meant no harm but found it intriguing to find a maid errant. So we wished to detain you for a while. Please forgive us our foolishness."   
Tears welled up in her eyes as she took the articles from him and fled across their circle, following the old road as quickly as she could run. Behind her the elven light was quenched. Fearing they might follow her, she fled on, not looking behind and not seeing Holly, who championed her, raise a hand, curving his arm as he did so. Neither did she hear him say in the elven tongue a verse which can be translated as follows: 

"Oh maiden lost, from dread union in flight   
May you find rest and peace tonight   
Let your curving path to you seem straight   
But at last guide you to an elven gate." 

So saying, he laughed merrily, and taking up his viol and strumming, joined the other minstrels. They began again to play and sing and dance with elven maids who appeared from the shadows where they had been sent by their kinsmen.   
"I told you the 'fellow' you met was in truth a maid," said an elf maiden to Jack.   
"How knew you that, Iris?"   
"I saw her bathe yestermorn. And, dear uncle, look not on me so. As if you thought I wronged you by not calling you to see for yourself. Thistledown, think you that she will find the gates before they close?" Iris called to another.   
"Our minstrel's enchantments can put wings to a turtle's feet, and she is no such reptile. Rest assured, she will find a haven with the ladies of our elven lord, for Holly Starfoot's words seldom go astray," said Thistledown and whirled away as the minstrels struck up a merry tune.


	3. Distant Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keren discovers family she didn't know she had.

Distant Relations

Keren knew that when lost in the woods people often finds themselves traveling in circles, but cared not at all. Elves were capricious, her mother had said, but never had Keren heard they were cruel. It troubled her that she should suffer at their hands, small though that suffering may be in comparison to marriage with Millerson. She wiped an angry tear from her eye, thinking on the waybread which the elves had eaten and was now not enough to carry her through to her destination.   
She never intended to crash into the first elf party, and certainly would have avoided the second, but once again, she sprang into the center of another group of elves. The elven ladies were not surprised in the least at her sudden entrance, merely halting their activity and looking at her curiously. Keren stared at all the faces, staring back at her, then turned and would have fled to some other place, but a voice stopped her. Literally. For the power of this voice was such that no mortal could disobey it.   
The voice said simply, "Hold." Neither shouted nor whispered. Then, "Well, turn about, girl. Let us look at you."   
Keren turned and stood silent, watching the speaker: A tall elf lady of some importance, it would appear, for her gown, though simple and of a solid green color, was richly textured with flowers and leaves woven into the cloth. A necklace with a pendant in the form of an eight pointed star adorned her throat and four rings were on her fingers. A green stone in a diadem sparkled from her brow. Her eyes were gray-green and her hair was a radiant amber gold, in three braids almost to her knees.   
"Your pardon, please lady, I beg of you. I meant not to disturb you," stammered Keren, "or to disturb anyone."   
The lady laughed. "Disturb us? Why, my dear, you are no disruption. We have been expecting you, though not quite in the manner in which you arrived. It was on your account we moved here, for a time, until we should encounter you."   
Keren's face must have borne a stupid, blank look, for the ladies began to speak kind encouragement all at once and Keren, fearing another round of elvish jests, stepped backward again.   
"Oh, please child," said the lady. "You need not fear us. We are not goblins who delight in tormenting frightened mortals. And we will deal with our children for the manner in which they sent you here. Come Keren Woodman, sit with us as we spin and weave, and tell us your story, for your travels interest us and now we would have all the tale."   
Startled that they knew her name, Keren followed them to a clearing where there were set looms and spinning wheels upon which unfinished work waited for completion. The ladies each went to her work.   
"I am Lurisa, lady of this small elven realm, for my husband, Morfindel, is lord. We once were called king and queen, but others greater than we have refused such titles, so we also have discarded them. You need not fear us for we have ever been ready to the aid of one so close of kin."   
"Kin?! I am no kin of elves. How do you say I am close kin?"   
"We must have your story first," said one of the ladies. "Have patience. All will be explained in due course."   
And so Keren told all, beginning with the latest and ending with her childhood at which point she repeated her incredulity at being called kin to elves.   
Lurisa smiled sadly. "My daughter wed a mortal man of Numenor, many centuries ago as you count years. Her children were half elven and could choose the doom of man, or the life of the elves. They all chose mortality. You are a descendant of one of those children."   
After a long silence, Keren said, "My mother never spoke of that to me."   
"Though she instructed you well, I can see," said yet another lady, named Springlily. To Keren's questioning glance she continued, "You spoke the truth, so far as you knew it, and you have patiently borne with our questions. You did not seek us but let us find you, though you may think you fled from us instead. You have not tried to impress and so make yourself look foolish. Your mother taught you well, indeed."   
Lurisa nodded. "Though we meddle rarely in the affairs of mortals, still we keep contact with your mother's people. You were going to them and we will help you on your way, but be not over eager to be gone, for we are not over eager to see one who so much bears the likeness of her foremother leave us so soon."   
"Why? Is she not with you, here in your realm?"   
"She found the sadness of her memories too great and sailed into the West. I may go to her, but she will not return to me."   
"Oh," Keren said and thoughtfully picked up a bit of wool, spinning it between her fingers until it became a fine thread.   
"There is one with skill as a spinner," laughed Lurisa. "Come here girl, and help me."   
Keren obeyed and was soon spinning a fine thread. Lurisa took up a musical instrument, the likes of which Keren had never seen before. It was a kind of harp with many strings, long, narrow and hollow with many tone holes, like a curve topped box. The lady began to play and at once Keren thought of waterfalls, and mountain streams, melting after a long winter. The other ladies sang and as soon as Keren was sure of the words she joined, for it was a spinning song of nonsense such as she and her sisters-in-law sang at the wheel.   
The night was wearing away and as the sky began to lighten the ladies called for servants to aid them in returning the spinning wheels and looms to their places inside the elven abode. Numerous elf maidens helped carry the things to the ruins of an ancient castle. From the front, it appeared decrepit and fallen down, but inside was such stone work and carpentry as Keren had only heard of in stories about places long ago and far away. She had not leave to tarry and gaze for she was also carrying a spinning wheel. It was light and made her wonder why two elf maidens were required to carry them.   
"It is because our elven lords require it and they, as yet, have no sway over you," said Lurisa from behind.   
"I beg your pardon?" Keren gasped, startled.   
"You were wondering why two elf women are required to carry a spinning wheel and three a loom, when you are able to carry one so easily alone."   
"That is so, my lady, but I meant no offense by it. Had I known you could read my mind, I know not what I should have done."   
Lurisa laughed. "I can not read thoughts, at least not through the back of ones head, but I saw the question in your eyes as you glanced about."   
Keren nodded and wondered if she would ever again have a private thought.   
Lurisa smiled and said nothing   
The elf maidens walked so lightly that Keren could hear only her own soft footsteps. She was walking no more heavily than in her father's house, but in these halls they echoed and made the maidens laugh, saying she sounded like a mouse striding through the palace. Keren could not help but laugh at the thought for often she had felt like a mouse under the watchful eye of her father. They asked why she laughed and when she told them they grew somber, saying that mortals found jests in strange places.   
When the looms and spinning wheels were again in Lurisa's workroom the elves lead Keren to a place of lodging where she left her belongings. They then bade her bathe and change her raiment for she must come before the elven lord and hear his judgment. Her heart leaped, for she had forgotten of the elven lord and only now remembered her mother saying none passed through or stayed in any elven realm without leave. A group of maidens joined them and lead her to their quarters where they chose a fitting gown and hastened her out to a ravine with a waterfall flowing down into a deep pool where they were wont to bathe and swim. Quickly, as though she were a child being made ready to present before visiting relations, they aided Keren in her toilet and applied ointment to her skin and dressed her. Keren thought their voices sounded familiar, but they gave her not a moment to question them, other than to say their names.  
“Your hair is too short. Why did you ever cut it off?” fussed Thistledown.   
“Nonsense!” cried Safronela, who supplanted Thistledown as hair dresser. She must have done well for the others laughed and clapped their hands with delight when she stepped away.   
Finally they shod her with light slippers and sped off, pulling her behind them. She felt her feet barely touched the ground, they ran so fast.   
Presently they came to a large, cedar wood door which opened before them, seemingly of its own accord. They entered a great, high ceiled hall which was walled as with tree trunks. Upon closer inspection, Keren saw that the walls were carved stone columns which arched overhead and met at the top, forming the roof. Light shown through openings on all sides and the air flowed freely through the room. Keren would have held back if the maidens had permitted but they impelled her forward, allowing her no chance to observe the hall more closely.   
"Come now, you can inspect the architecture at your leisure, when you have it, but now is not the time," whispered Thistledown.   
Never in her life had Keren considered herself fair to look upon and had spent very little time before a looking glass so now, seeing all eyes gazing at her, she knew not what to do other than allow Thistledown to guide her to the dais where she saw an elf sitting upon a finely carved stone chair. She could not guess at his height but seated he came to Lurisa's shoulder as she stood beside him on his right, one step below. He was dark of hair and gray eyed, wearing a crown of silver holly leaves and red berries on his brow. In his hand he held a carved cedar staff and a sword, which had a single eight rayed star engraved on the blade near the hilt with an amber gem stone at its center, lay at his feet. No one spoke or even moved for such a long time that it seemed the elves were statues of stone. Not knowing what else to do, Keren stood still also, her hands clasped at her waist and waited.   
"Thistledown, I must commend you on your choice of gown for our guest," said Lurisa at last.   
Thistledown curtsied and squeezed Keren's arm. For her part, Keren could not take her eyes from the elven lord and his lady. She was certain she had never seen them before,and yet somehow felt she had always known them. As they gazed into each other's eyes Keren began to remember a meeting she had long forgotten, of this elf and his lady and her mother. He had lowered himself to a knee and extended a hand to her, saying “will you not allow me to greet you properly?” When she obeyed and reached her hand forward, he took it and kissed it so lightly, yet she still remembered the tingle that little kiss left behind, and how she hid behind her mother’s skirts afterward.   
At last Morfindel smiled. "Welcome, my daughter. It has been long since we saw the child whose likeness you bear. Again, welcome." His voice was low, though not deep, and quiet, like the soft tolling of one of the bells of Barad Lomin’s tower.  
Keren curtsied. "Thank you, my lord."   
"We have heard your tale and gladly welcome you in our midst," he continued. "We are about to sit at table." He stood, removed the crown from his brow and placed it on the seat of the chair. The staff he left leaning against the chair back. Then he stepped down and approached her. Offering his hand, he added "Will you join us?" He was quite tall indeed, taller even than her father, causing her to feel like a little girl before him. She looked at Lurisa, who nodded and gestured that Keren should take his hand.  
She placed her hand on his and allowed herself to be led to a banquet hall where many tables were spread and servants were running to and fro, carrying dishes and arranging place settings. In those days, to Keren's knowledge, people ate with only knife and fork, spoons being used for serving, but here was knife, fork, spoon,goblet, plate, napkin... and other things for which she had no names.   
When all were seated, at Morfindel's command, they stood together and turned to face the West. Morfindel said some words in their elvish tongue, then bade them sit and enjoy the meal. Keren followed their example, mystified as to the meaning of this ceremony. Thistledown, who was seated beside her, leaned to her and whispered, "It is a Numenorean custom we adopted, to share a moment of silence, in thanks for our food, facing the West where lies our final home and the Lords of the Earth, and beyond to the One Who Created All Things. We do this to honor the request of your ancestor, the sea captain who wed the lord and lady’s daughter, lest his descendants forget."   
Keren nodded, remembering. Since the death of her mother her family had discarded the practice, but giving thanks for a meal at least she understood. Following the example of others, she picked up a fork and knife and began to eat. The food was delicious and she ate hungrily, for she had not eaten a full meal in several days, having depended upon her waybread for sustenance. Thistledown chuckled and said "Were I your mother I would scold you, and in the future I will instruct you on proper table manners, but for the time being we shall let you eat like one of the fellows."   
Keren merely smiled at her and nodded, having yet to finish chewing a bite. "My mother tried to teach me such manners as I know, which differ but little from your own. I do ask your pardon though, for I’ve traveled far and was very hungry," she said at last.   
"Thistledown speaks of manners. You should see her eat after running about on our lady's errands all day," commented Jack, who sat across from them.   
"Thistledown likes to think herself the lady's chief maid-in-waiting," said Sam. "I am trying to change that."   
"And so you may in due time," said Thistledown with a wry smile, then returned her attention to Keren, leaning forward confidentially. “Only young elves eat much, and that while still growing. Once we reach adult stature we need only sustenance enough to keep up our energy.”   
The banter continued and her hunger pangs relented. Keren sat and listened and smiled on them but joined not in the jesting. A feeling crept over her that she did not belong here. All seemed so unreal to her senses, yet it was neither dream, nor vision, nor trick of the mind, somehow more real than even her own room in her father’s house. Here, seated in the midst of elves and, in part, one of them. Such a strange turn of events. Her mother told stories of Numenore and its downfall, but never said she was a descendant of a man and an elf woman, no matter how long ago the union took place. Keren wondered if her mother had even known herself.   
The banquet was breaking up now and the elves were returning to the hall where minstrels took up their instruments. She followed Thistledown and her friends, reviewing in her mind the story of how her parents met and married. He was traveling with his father on King's business in the north. They stayed at an inn which was owned by a friend of a fellow knight in the company. Her mother was a daughter of the innkeeper, a former advisor to the King who had fallen into disfavor. Woodman spoke with Miriel as she waited upon them and once or twice in private and each found in the other a ready companion. Her parents were not willing to let her go so far so soon after their meeting so they parted for a time. He returned and lived among her people for a year after which her parents approved the match. Two years after they wed they moved south to Barad Lomin. For many happy years she remembered her father and mother's laughter, playing with her siblings and making housework a game. But the winter she turned fifteen a plague struck down her mother and infant brother. Her father's laughter ceased and Keren took up her mother's household duties, leaving her brothers to sorrow for the loss of their mother and the companionship of their sister.  
Keren’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of singing. Quickly, she lifted her head and her eyes met the gaze of Holly Starfoot. It was not he who had struck up the tune, though he stood with his viol. He had been watching her and seemed to have read her thoughts, for that same look was on his face which she had seen in the forest. She found she could not take her eyes from his and wondered at this power elves had over mortals. At last he smiled, knowing her discomfort, and released her, moving away to join the other minstrels as they played and sang.   
"Well, what were you thinking that held Starfoot's attention so?" asked Thistledown.   
"Just about my parents," murmured Keren.   
"Have a care," cautioned Safronela. "You are smitten of one who reads a woman's heart more thoroughly than I read a book on elven history."   
Keren put her hand to her mouth, closed her eyes and sighed. "He feels sorry for me. That’s all. I’m too far beneath his station to be 'smitten.' He would not..."   
"Keep thinking those thoughts and you'll catch him for sure," murmured Thistledown.   
"But I wish to 'catch' no one!"   
"And such is your peril if you stand about so easily to be caught yourself. Come! Join us in the dance!" said Safronela and taking Keren by the hand, led her to a far corner.   
"But I know not...!"   
"It matters not! We shall teach you," said Thistledown.  
So they taught her a most intricate dance and were pleased when she learned so quickly. It seemed to Keren the elf maidens were playing “keep-away” with the elves, for when one approached them, the maidens shouted and dashed to another far corner. A little confused, Keren allowed herself to be pulled hither and yon but presently begged leave to rest.   
"Of course, you poor thing. You are a mortal. We almost forgot. Come with us. We shall see you to your bed and then return to the dance," said Safronela taking Keren by the hand.   
Thistledown took Keren’s other arm. “Elves do not need sleep as mortals do. We can rest our minds by gazing upon objects of beauty, or lose ourselves in our own memories and dreams...” she said as they led her from the hall.  
"And about time it is too," observed Starfoot to the flutist as they departed, who nodded and smiled as he played. "Which one of us should speak to them about their new toy, who is no toy?"   
"I shall speak to the lady and allow her to deal with them," said Springlily. "Young elves are such enthusiastic creatures."


	4. Drastic Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keren and her new friends encounter a troop of goblins.

Drastic Measures

One must remember that young elves are eager to teach any new thing they have learned. In fact, they were so willing that the unsuspecting ran the risk of being taught, whether they wanted or not. In Keren the elves found an able, if somewhat overwhelmed, pupil. They did take to heart Lurisa's caution against overworking their poor defenseless mortal charge however, and held class for her only during the day, leaving her at peace in the evening. This arrangement suited them for it left them free to make merry in the forest throughout the night. During these tutoring sessions, Thistledown explained that they used Westron translations of names they had chosen for themselves. When Keren learned to speak elvish more fluently they would teacher her their true, elvish names, and may give her one as well.   
In appearance Thistledown and her companions seemed no older than Keren, who had passed her 25th birthday not long before learning of her intended marriage. But they counted their age in centuries, not years, and remembered watching their fathers, uncles and elder brothers march or ride off to join the Last Alliance which ended the Second Age and began the Third, and from which so few ever returned.   
Thistledown had dark hair, blue-grey eyes and preferred the color blue. Safronela had hair the color of autumn leaves at their most brilliant hues of red and gold and she wore green. Other maidens were Daisy, golden haired and clad in yellow, Iris whose hair was black and wore violet, Rosebud with flaxen hair and as her name might suggest preferred any color in which a rose might appear and had a gown for each day. And finally, Dandelion, who, like the flower for which she was named, had golden hair and wore green.   
Much to their consternation Keren put aside the rich gown they gave her and wore her old clothes except when in presence of the lord and lady. She wore an ankle length skirt, simple blouse and jacket with her brother's leather boots which she had worn on her journey and found to be very comfortable. These garments were showing signs of wear which the elf maidens would not abide so they made others like them using fabric spun and woven on their own spinning wheels and looms.   
The first course of instruction the elves chose for Keren was their elven language. In private moments her mother had sung to her in a similar tongue so already she had received a good foundation, but could not, as of yet, read Elven script. After a week of twelve hour days, they brought out their scrolls and books and instructed her in poetry, medicine, care of many types of plants, history of the elves and their allies, and also of their enemies. Keren had never seen a goblin or troll except in a drawing, though she certainly had heard of them and all the mischief they had wrought in times past. Some elves doubted they still inhabited their old haunts, while others feared they might return or had never left but gone farther underground.   
The young elves taught her many songs and would have instructed her in a few enchantments but Lurisa forbade them, saying such things were too powerful for a mortal to control, wise though the mortal may be. Keren did not wish to become what her mother called a sorceress, a mortal woman who used enchantments to manipulate others, and gladly passed up those lessons.   
Occasionally her tutors were called away to serve the lady before completing the lesson so at those times Keren read selections set aside for her in the archives. One such day, nearly a month after her arrival, Keren was in the archives at a table struggling with a particularly difficult passage from The Noldolantë. Not that she could not pronounce the words but that there were so many new to her which she could not find in her study books. At last she sighed, head in hand, dropping her arm across the book. She lifted her eyes to gaze out the window at a glorious sunny autumn day. Feeling the need to move about, she stood and turned to the door where, much to her surprise, Starfoot had just entered. She blushed at his good humored smile.   
"You struggle with one of the works of Maglor, I see."   
"That is so, my lord. How did you know...?"   
"Because I myself struggled with him, and he was my mentor. No surprise is it to me if others also find his works difficult. Least of all a mortal maiden. May I assist you?"   
"Oh yes! Please! I would greatly enjoy..." she began, then stopped, embarrassed. "That is, if it troubles you not."   
"You cannot trouble me," laughed Starfoot, "because I was looking for this very book."   
He pulled up a chair and explained the words' meanings which Keren did not know and watched as she added them to her list of new words with quill and ink. He was about to expound on the last verse when Thistledown's voice interrupted.   
"Holly Starfoot! Have you usurped my pupil?"   
He laughed and said "More than mere minstrel would it take to usurp any upon whom you lay claim."   
"Nonsense, 'mere minstrel.' I was called away on an errand for the lady and was gone only a moment. It would not surprise me to find you had waited at the door and sprang in as soon as I departed."   
"I beg to differ. Look at what your pupil has accomplished in your absence before I 'sprang in.'" He handed the word list to her, which she perused and set aside.   
"You have done enough poetry and history for two days. All in one morning. You need recreation," said Thistledown as she bustled about, replacing books and scrolls.   
"Ah ah, not that one. The only reason I tarried here was the book I sought was in use," said Starfoot as he snatched the volume before Thistledown could grasp it.   
"A likely story," said she, and ushered Keren from the room.   
Again, Starfoot laughed and continued studying the passage with which Keren had struggled. Maglor was known as one of the greatest poets and singers, until he disappeared, but those events were long ago and far away as mortals count time and distance. Starfoot in his mind relived a meeting with his former mentor, at the same time musing upon the capricious nature of women, of any race. 

"You must not allow the fellows to be so friendly," said Thistledown to her charge as she lead her out into a glade near the dwelling.   
Keren was taken aback by this and looked questioningly at her tutor, who in her turn gazed back in wonder.   
"You truly do not know of what I speak," Thistledown said at last.   
"But I do," stated Keren emphatically. "It just causes me to wonder that you are so concerned. I know well the misfortunate consequences of a union between mortal maid and elf, for my mother instructed me to beware that I not bestow my heart on one who would do ill to accept it, though at the time I thought her sayings merely fancies. What could an undying elf see in a frail, mortal woman? Perhaps you see more in Starfoot's attention than I do, but I assure you, he has not presumed upon my assumed innocence."   
Now it was Thistledown's turn to step back. "Assumed innocence? Why do you say such things."   
"I was five times betrothed and have aided my sisters-in-law when their time to give birth came. Though I am yet a maid, I am not ignorant, or as innocent as some may think."   
"Of what 'misfortunate consequences' do you speak?"   
"It is simple animal husbandry applied to speaking beings. My mother spoke of mules. A mare bred to a donkey produces a mule which has the strength of a horse and the endurance of a donkey. But a jenny bred to a stallion produces a hinny, an animal which is both weak and foolish. Is it not true that mortal women paired with elven men produce offspring having the fiery spirit of elven kind but lacking their wisdom, the willfulness of mortal man but not the self control?"   
"Your mother taught you well," said Thistledown. "Would that I also had known her. But one more possibility there is which you mentioned not but no doubt was known to your wise mother. Should mortal woman's child be more elf than mortal, she would likely expire in the birthing. Mentioned she this possibility?"   
"She did and were I assured of such a child I would gladly give up my life to produce one. But that is so unsure I should not risk the other possibilities."   
"Would that more mothers were as careful in their instruction of their daughters as was yours," murmured Thistledown.   
The two friends, tutor and pupil, wandered about for several hours in conversation, for Thistledown also wanted to show Keren the boundaries of the elven realm of Dor Luin, which nestled in the foot of the Blue Mountains. They climbed a high foot hill, and Thistledown pointed out land marks Keren could identify. A ring of tall cedar trees circled the realm, marking the boundary past which none could go without leave of the elves. It was just outside this ring Keren had encountered Lurisa and her ladies in waiting, as they waited for her.   
The elf maiden was eager to be out and about for the day had yet to pass into twilight when she would join her friends at the edge of the woods to make merry, as elves will do at every chance. She lead Keren on a merry run through the trees down the hill. They bounded, laughing and squealing over rocks and tree roots. Keren feared she would fall but Thistledown and her friends had often run this way so she knew every step and did not falter. They were soon threading the cedars and had collected a number of other elves as well. Daisy teased Keren about the noise her boots made and Rosebud laughed at her short, ankle length skirt, autumn colored hues and lack of ornamentation. Safronela said she thought Keren's manner of dress suited her well and the others were showing their lack of knowledge about mortals. Jack and Sam agreed and suggested they visit a few towns near the river to hear the noise of other footsteps with which to compare Keren's before they judged too quickly.   
They cavorted and danced well beyond the fir trees and were approaching the old road when suddenly all froze and stood listening. Keren had not the senses of the elves, but even she could hear the noise which had stopped her companions in their tracks. It was a shuffling of many hard-soled feet, all passing on the other side of the road. A whisper spread from one elf to the next. A single word: goblins.   
Thistledown took Keren by the arm and said "Fly! Back to the trees! The trees of guard! Fly!" but at that moment a goblin shambled into the clearing, saw the elves and let out such a hideous shouting growl that if Keren had not been held fast by her tutor, she would have fled screaming in any direction and in her terror become lost. In all fairness, hers was not the only voice which cried out. Other goblins appeared and at the sight of them, the elves turned and fled but found themselves cut off from sanctuary. Having no time to work their enchantments, they dashed about saying powerful words as they went but to little avail for they only held off and did not defeat the goblins who gnashed at them with their teeth threatening unspeakable things and mocking the elves fear. One fearsome goblin lunged forward and caught hold of Iris skirt. Keren, hearing her friend's scream, was jarred back to her senses and remembered the knife hidden in the shaft of her boot. She snatched it out in a flash and struck the arm of the goblin. He shrieked in pain and anger and turned on her, his own knife at the ready. He feigned once, twice, a third time. She saw he was trying to separate her from the others and in one bold lunge toward him she drove her knife upward into his chest, jerking it away and jumping aside. The other goblins were in a fury at this loss to a mere woman. The maidens had all they could do just to prevent the goblins from moving any closer and Jack and Sam were busy with knife work of their own. The armed elves and Keren formed a triangle with the others in the center, slowly inching their way to the trees of guard. Keren was sure all was lost but at last they reached the cedar trees and what would soon be safety. The enchantment about the trees would not kill the goblins but would send an alarm bringing other elves to the defense. Few goblins could bear the force of such a barrier, however formidable some may be. These followed Keren and Thistledown, who were the rear guard and in turns lunged at them, only to receive a gouge here, a slash there from Keren's knife. She herself was plenty scratched and bruised but stood firm, finding these real goblins far more frightening than the imagined ones she and her brothers had fought, once upon a time. Keren heard the words of Thistledown's enchantment and was heartened even more to hear encouragement and praise for valor.   
Suddenly a goblin sprang around Keren and struck Thistledown so that she fainted. Keren, hardly aware of what she did, plunged her knife to the hilt between the goblin's rib. He turned on her with a fury which jerked the knife from her hands and sent her stumbling against a tree. The goblin limped toward her, growling horrible sounding words and noises and reached a clawed hand to her face. Keren closed her eyes, screaming and kicking at him with all her might. A noise cut the air, sort of a "whoooooooosh-thummmm!" When Keren opened her eyes, she saw the lifeless glazed eyes of the goblin still staring at her with an arrow through his throat. She pushed him away with her foot and he fell on his side. Elven archers had arrived. Among them came the chief captain, Neldoras. In his hand he wielded the sword which had been at Morfindel’s feet. Now it glowed with blue fire, flashing brightly each time it struck a goblin.  
Keren ran to Thistledown and helped her to her feet.   
"You fool of a mortal!" came a shout from an elvish archer. "Why put you yourself in such danger!?"   
She turned on him. "And what would you have me do?! Stand still, wailing like an infant while these monsters snatched away my friends in front of my own eyes?!"   
"A woman's place is to seek the protection of..."   
"And what if there is no protector?! My brothers never taught me to be so helpless!!" she shouted and found herself face to face with Holly Starfoot, for in her anger she had not recognized his voice and his face was changed from his usual good humored expression into a stern, cold visage she liked not at all. If a goblin is a fearsome creature, an elf in his wrath is terrible indeed. But this look quickly changed.   
"My apologies. There was no fault in your actions but in my harsh words. I was afraid for you. Tend to your companions," said he and with a word to his horse they sprang away, following the goblins, rejoining the chase.   
Keren nodded, pulled her knife from the back of the goblin, wiped the blood on the grass and returned it to its hidden sheath. She then joined her friends tending Thistledown and Iris.   
“How did they know where we were?” she asked, feeling dazed and unsure of her feet.  
“The trees of guard speak to each other,” responded Thistledown in a tired voice, ever the tutor. “They send news to us, and others who inhabit Dor Luin. And the sword on the dais glows...”  
“Be still,” Sam told her gently, taking her hand in his.  
When Keren knew that she could do nothing to help her tutor and friend, she slowly began to circle about, looking at each goblin, wanting to ensure they were dead. "What do you do with dead goblins?" she asked.   
"Burn them, of course," said Jack, not even looking at her. He was too concerned about Iris to answer questions of an unlearned mortal and Thistledown was in no condition to speak.   
Keren nodded, took a pair of gloves from pockets in her jacket and asked, "Where?"   
Sam looked up from tending Thistledown and pointed to a large, flat slab of stone about twenty yards away. After putting on her gloves, Keren dragged the goblin nearest her toward it. The creature was not so heavy as she had expected, about like dragging a deer to be dressed. She had piled three on the slab before anyone noticed what she did. Jack and Sam would have bade her stop her labor but Thistledown cautioned them, saying "If you make her stop one thing, be sure you have another for her to do. She has never killed before except for food and is deeply troubled. Let her work. Or better yet, I can tend to our hurts. Go help her."   
Jack and Sam looked at each other, then at the goblins, then at Keren hauling on the arm of a large ogre, pulling it slowly to the slab. They grimaced but nodded and bounded away to fetch other goblins to the fire.   
"Need you wood or have you other source of fire?" asked Keren.   
"We've another source," said Jack. "We'll not waste good wood on the likes of them."   
Keren nodded and walked away until Sam called after her, instructing her to leave the largest goblins for them. Again she nodded, passed by a particularly huge one and found a goblin more her size.   
The other elves joined their labor and worked long and hard into the night. At dawn as the last goblin they could find was tossed on the heap, the elven soldiers rode home, rejoicing. They had slain every goblin but one and long though they pursued that one, he escaped. 78 goblins they counted and consigned to the flames three miles away.   
"We've 21 here," said Jack.   
The captain of the elvish host nodded and dismounted. “It was a providence that you chose to explore at this place, at this time,” he said and strode to the maidens to ask of their welfare.   
"We have no permanent hurts," said Iris, "but look to the mortal, Keren. She is not well."   
He turned and saw her strip off her gloves and cast them on the heap, then back away, shivering and trembling as from a bitter winter wind. He called to her, "What ails you?" and she shook her head, a wild look in her eyes, turned and ran toward the elven halls.   
At that moment Starfoot rode up and swung to the ground by the captain. They spoke briefly then race after Keren.   
"She'll run herself to death if we don't stop her," said Neldoras. "She should never have been permitted to handle those goblins."   
"She is running in the right direction at least," observed Starfoot. "Maybe it is only fear which assails her."   
"Maybe, but let us not leave her alone until we know."   
Presently they came upon her, leaning against a tree, gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably.   
"O-o-on-ly s-s-sc-rat-ch-ch-es," she stammered through chattering teeth. "S-s-s-o c-c-cold."   
"There is poison on Goblin weapons, and even on their claws. A single scratch is enough," observed Starfoot.   
"To kill a man," added the captain, softly.   
Starfoot helped her sit on a wide tree root. Though she had no major wound, she had many cuts and scratch about the arms and legs and both elves began immediately to fear for her. They applied such healing ointment as they had with them. She tried to stand but could not and groped about for the trunk of the tree. The elves feared it was already too late to help her. Starfoot called to Nimthalion, his horse, who trotted to his side obediently. The elf mounted and the captain lifted Keren to him. With but a single word from Starfoot, the horse stepped into a smooth, ground covering single-foot.   
"You dear, brave creature," Starfoot whispered to her as he held her. "Live! If you've any sense of fair play, you must live so I may have a chance to berate you properly."   
A faint smile touched her lips but passed. "Oh, Starfoot, I know not what ails me. I feel such sadness."   
"Sadness? For what?"   
"For those miserable goblins, because they have no escape from their ill fate. For myself because I miss my family and fear I'll never see them again. And for my friends, Thistledown, Jack, Sam and you, because of the harsh deeds you must do to prevent deeds more terrible still."   
"You sweet, sweet child," he murmured and kissed her brow.   
Now, with elves, a simple kiss can tell what is amiss with a body. Immediately he knew Keren had need of strong medicine, for her injuries were rapidly poisoning her. He bade his horse halt and took her face in one hand, holding her about the waist and kissed her, hoping maybe the fire of his spirit might join with hers and burn away the goblin illness which sought to claim her. No kiss of a lover's passion, but one akin to that which a despairing father will bestow on a dying child, begging that a little life should pass from him to make the child whole again.   
Keren remembered her first and most beloved suitor by whom she had been kissed many times. After his death, she was sure she would never feel such bliss again. How different was Starfoot's kiss, like a fire, burning through her, healing her and leaving her knowing nothing until she at last opened her eyes and found herself still in his arms, on a speeding horse, drawing near to the elven gates.


	5. Goblins and Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repercussions of Keren's flight from home and Starfoot's attempt to save her life.

Goblins and Schemes

Morfindel met them as they passed through the gate. He took Keren from Starfoot and bore her quickly to the house of healing which for many years had seen no occupant. Lurisa brought all her healing potions and ointments and followed by her ladies in waiting, guided her husband to a room. There, Morfindel lowered Keren to a couch and left so the lady could examine her hurts more closely. Starfoot stood silently outside the door as Morfindel came out. Disturbed by the goblins attack and the measures Starfoot used to save Keren, the elven lord looked Starfoot long in the eye and sighed.   
"Walk with me, Elendal," he said in the elven language.   
"Yes, my lord."   
They walked in silence until they came to a lonely place which Morfindel reserved for himself and those with whom he would speak in private.   
"My friend, what have you done?" the elven lord asked sadly. "What have you done?!"   
Starfoot understood it was no question. Morfindel was not asking for fact and excuse. He knew already what was done, and where it led. A kiss may be just a kiss between two mortals, but between elf and mortal, it was so much more - a binding of spirits not to be broken, except by death. He had glimpsed the paths of the past and seeing sorrow upon sorrow brought on by elf and mortal together, loss upon loss, heartbreak upon heartbreak and now, with a simple, single act of mercy, Starfoot had begun, once again, the cycle of gaining only to lose forever. Such a small thing, yet such far reaching consequences.   
"You will not pursue her," stated Morfindel.   
"Pursuit was never my intention, my lord."   
"I know. And perhaps there are workings here beyond my ability to perceive. I know not how to instruct you, much less how to command you. Her doom and your bereavement are written in your eyes for all to see."   
"My lord, she was dying. I had no other means to prolong her life until we should reach the house of healing. What would you have had me do? Had I done nothing but borne her here, the measures needed to save her would have themselves killed her. Again I ask you, what would you have had me to do?"   
"I know not. In your place, I should have done as you and regained a daughter. For a while. Only to lose her again. But this I would know. Was it not you who counseled my daughter to never allow a mortal to approach her, be that mortal man or woman? Was it not you who spoke against allowing her to bring her husband here, when he was old and stricken in years? And yet was it not you who mourned with her when he died? You are ever like your name. A host of paradoxes reside within your breast, for of you have I heard songs of wondrous mirth, coupled with unsurpassed sorrow. And on this day, again, you have astounded me by binding this mortal woman to you, and to her doom, and yourself to endless sorrow. You know the risks of mere friendship with the Atani."   
Starfoot nodded, acknowledging the truth of what the elven lord said.   
"And what will become of you?" continued Morfindel. "I know not what chance occurrence may come of this but still your choices remain. Would you leave also when there is yet so much which must be done? Shadows grow. Goblins prowl again. Rumor of the Enemy stirring in the east. Will you also take ship, this world gone gray and no longer a thing of joy to be found in it? Like my daughter? "   
"I think not my lord. It is only now that I understand your daughter's choice. And yet I will not go that way, for it is too perilous. Keren would have a long life, were she to live among other mortals in peaceful times, but not with me. And as for me, you say I am to be bereaved, but I am bereft already. My heart is bound by a love I may never express yet whatever sorrow may fall on me, I will not repent of doing what I could to spare the life of so valiant a maid, be it only for awhile until some other fate catches her."   
Morfindel shook his head and looked away, deep in thought. "My friend," he said at last, not turning, "I have seen so many paths, so many crossroads and been undismayed, yet here at a simple fork in the road we stand, and either way I see only another fork, and other forks leading on endlessly. For you. But for her... Time is so short. We must not shorten it further. You know what you must do, or rather what you must not do. Would it ease your burden if I command you in this matter? Or would it only add to it?"   
"I have ever been yours to command."   
"That is no answer."   
"My lord, knowing what must be, and that you wish it so for it is best, is command enough."   
Morfindel nodded and bade his minstrel join the others in their singing and playing, though he knew Starfoot's heart was not in it. Starfoot obeyed, seeing the wisdom in his lord's command, for he needed work to do and the other minstrels were stumbling over several of Maglor's hardest works.   
The elven lord watched him go, wondering what to do. The elves of Dor Luin once held much discourse with the people of Barad Lomin. Jack and Sam still visited back and forth from Eryn Vorn to Dor Luin, gathering news and listening to gossip. He permitted, and even encouraged it, because it amused Jack, who was such an energetic fellow, and still young enough that he, and his friend Sam, could pass for mortals. Morfindel used to travel quite often as well. Perhaps he should not have withdrawn from his daughter’s children but men of the town began to resent the elves and their longevity, and called Morfindel’s advice interference. His visits became sporadic for a while until he ceased them altogether. Though he traveled to Eryn Vorn where dwelt more of his people, he was content to leave things as they were, perceiving that the doom of Mandos was still at work upon his house. He would rather relinquish all claim to the descendants of Ciryafin than hang on and cause strife. They had lived peacefully giving advice only when diligently sought after, untroubled by mortal woes for many years, until now.   
Starfoot was in for a trying time, as long as Keren remained in Dor Luin. She looked so like Eärlina, his daughter, Morfindel was not at all surprised at his minstrel’s feelings for her. Thinking of duties and errands which would keep Starfoot occupied, Morfindel began to look forward to some future time when they could go on with their elvish lives, undisturbed by such sorrows. 

Keren's stay in the house of healing lasted three days. During her period of enforced rest, she and Lurisa spoke at length on many topics. Lurisa was pleased when Keren expressed interest in the cultivation of plants with healing properties. Only the lady thought it not strange or a mere reaction to her own hurts. Keren had rather humorously stated that, should her family be attacked by goblins, there would not likely be any elves near enough to kiss their hurts and make them better.   
Thistledown and Iris also were wards of the lady at this time and they continued Keren's instruction in other topics but found her to be more firmly resolved to direct her own studies.   
One day, while both Lurisa and Keren were in the archives going on a parallel study of the preparation of certain medicines, the lady rather quietly said "What think you, Keren, of Holly Starfoot?" Then she laughed, "and do not tell me you think of him not at all for the flush of your cheeks would put the lie to that statement."   
Keren smiled weakly. "I hardly know what to say, my lady, other than I try to think of anything else but him."   
"And why is that?"   
"I hardly know how to answer that either," she said with a thoughtful look. "It seems that, well, he is to me as my father is to his most prized hound."   
Lurisa raised her eyebrows high and looked on Keren searchingly.   
"Please do not misunderstand. My father is very fond of his hounds, particularly the dam of them all. He caresses them, might even kiss one on its forehead should it perform beyond his expectations and he might allow one to nestle beneath his arm before the fire or perchance to sleep on the foot of his bed, but for that hound to consider herself the lady of the house, that would be presumptuous indeed. Though a hound recognize no voice but that of my father, a hound she would remain. And so it is with me. Though I run with elves, sleep in the midst of elves, eat with elves, I shall never be an elf and any thought otherwise would be self delusion."   
"Would that other mortals were so clear sighted," said Lurisa. "Many I have heard rage at their fate and would gladly trade their final glory for fame and renown in the present, or seek to prolong their lives at the expense of future generations. Elves can not choose to be elves anymore than mortals can choose not to be mortal. But one thing I must tell you; never would Starfoot compare you to a hound, prized or otherwise. It is a most difficult burden, harboring a love which must never bear fruit, for you are more than sister or daughter to him, but he is an honorable elf and so must he ever regard you."   
Keren thought a moment, studying a passage on the use of orchids. "Perhaps it would be best if I returned to my father's house..." she began.   
"No!" said the lady and spun to face Keren, who jumped at such sharp words. "That you must not do! Go to your mother's people, but do not return to your father's house."   
Keren was troubled by this stern warning. She said nothing however, and nodded, waiting for the lady to explain, if she would.   
"Forgive me for being so adamant, and I do not mean you should never see your father again, but I foresee great harm if you return to your father's house too soon. Please, go to live with your mother's people who still abide near Lake Evendim. We know and are known to them. Perhaps I am selfish and merely wish you to remain close by, but the thought of you returning across the river brings a shadow to my heart."   
Keren again nodded, remembering her mother had said elves often have premonitions which should not be ignored. She determined not to ignore this one, but also she resolved to visit her family across the river sometime soon. Nearly a month had passed and she thought her would be suitor had surely abandoned her, or at least suffered the effect of the delay. 

 

Several days journey from the elven realm, on the road south of Barad Lomin, two figures approached each other across a dark path in the woods outside of town. One was tall and wore a hat and dark cape. The other was, well, it can best be described as grotesque. It's head was large and seemed set upon its shoulders where it swiveled as a ball in a socket. It too wore a cape but this one had a hood which at the approach of the other was cast back to reveal a face with mouth full of sharp, protruding teeth, large, bulbous eyes and a flat crooked nose. It's skin was pale and greenish yellow, a creature of the night having seen the sun but rarely in its long existence A low bell tolled from the tower, but not the hour. The grotesque figure sneered toward the sound, then spoke to Millerson. "Greetings, Millerson. I've some news that might interest you."   
"Oh?" asked Millerson, looking about in all directions then turning to the goblin and saying smoothly, "pray tell what is this, news?"   
The goblin laughed harshly. "To hear you use the word 'pray'! Wait until the others hear."   
"The news?"   
"Very well. I know where is this woman you seek."   
"What woman?"   
"The one called Keren Woodman."   
Millerson fixed his whole attention upon the goblin, then lead him to a shack not far from the path. There he indicated a chair, which the goblin refused so the man sat. He took a pipe from his pocket and tended it, eying the goblin suspiciously and said "Well, tell me."   
The creature laughed, then growled "She is with elves."   
Millerson laughed. "Elves!?" He almost lost his seat in his mirth. "Oh please! Elves! They are so far estranged from us, it is not likely. They'd merely let her lose herself in the woods..."   
"In that case, we'd have found her. I know where she is, and that she is out of our grasp."   
"For now," murmured Millerson. "Only for now. She will return. The elves will see to that. And when she does, we will wed. A broken engagement is more than old Woodman can bear, once I have the townspeople on my side."   
"You've been none too successful there. The man is convinced his daughter is dead, and blames himself for arranging a marriage she did not want. Deny it not! It is plain, even to me."   
"It is not plain to me."   
"Then you are a fool."   
"Am I? And what does that make you?"   
The goblin laughed hideously and leaned toward Millerson, who pushed his chair away from him. "It makes me hungry," laughed the ogre, "very hungry, and you are nice and fat. Though not so fat as before. Work has been good for you."   
"We had an agreement."   
"Yes and if you continue to insult me I'll see to it that you are brought before the Master before your time. You’ve talked your way out of trouble for now. But you’d best find a way to get what the Master wants. He won’t wait much longer. We need a stronghold near this river. If you can’t provide it..." The creature flexed its claws and licked its lips.   
Millerson thought a moment and grimaced. "No need of that. I've no desire to be your next meal..."   
"You needn't fear just yet. We still haven't got what we want. You're safe as long as we know you can provide it."   
"Well," Millerson cleared his throat. "About the woman. She may not be so far from our reach as you think. You’ve overrun elven realms before."   
"When our numbers were greater and our master was stronger. As yet that master is still making ready, for we have become scattered, even more than the elves, for they pursue without mercy and when they catch us, they kill us."   
"As do you them."   
"Not always," said the goblin with a foul leer.   
"I see," said Millerson and again sat thoughtfully. Then he laughed. "And this is the price I pay to become the most powerful man in Cardolan, to whom even kings and princes would bow the knee?"   
The goblin snickered, then peered at Millerson with a cunningly quizzical face. "One thing I would know. Why her? She's not the fairest wench. Really, she's a plain thing, compared to some I've seen."   
"Oh? Is she. And what would you know of wenches?"   
"Don't you know? There are places in this wide world where my master holds full sway. We can demand, and get, fairer than she to roast for our table."   
"Roast!"   
"Yes. The idea that one should perish for the preservation of all is a well known doctrine. We are able to use such notions to our advantage," the ogre said in tones both soothing and chilling.   
"I'm sure you are."   
"Also, I have not told you about my mother, have I."   
"Do not disgust me! You still need my assistance, do you not."   
"Yes we do, but it amuses me that you can be disgusted. The tale of my mother might amuse you. At any rate, it amuses me to tell it. She was a fair creature, wed to our king. She produced many fine soldiers over many years but then tried to escape. We ate her for breakfast the next day. The flavor of elf flesh is not unlike..."   
"Beware of my disgust! How did you find Keren and why could you not get her?"   
"My troop was in search of food, passing through the woods north across the river to join those I left here when they came upon some elf women as they wandered. They pursued the creatures who fled until we could no longer get at them. Elves have some spells we are as of yet not able to break. When the elves started shooting at us with their arrows, we fled while they pursued, I thought to make an ambush, but..." The goblin broke off speaking and aimed his glower toward the north, muttering obscenities and shaking a fist once.   
"I find your change from 'they' to 'we' interesting."   
"And well you should. I alone of 100 strong goblins escaped. If you want our help, you must find a way to get us past those elves."   
"Seems elven magic is not to be trifled with."   
"Would you instruct me in my business?!"   
"No, no, of course not. I was merely thinking aloud. You've still the original 20?"   
"Of course. No elves seek them here. And they came by a different way."   
Millerson sat in thought a while. "I wonder, if it is possible to spread a rumor that my intended is being held captive by the elves. Perhaps..."   
“Men and elves have become etranged in recent times,” the ogre said with an evil grin. "The townspeople may turn to your side after all."   
"Leave me a while. I must consider what's to be done and how to go about it."   
"I'll leave you, but ONLY for a while. Since you've bade us cease gleaning off your town, which we have done, it becomes harder to find enough to satisfy our hunger."   
"You've already ruined me," said Millerson bitterly. "And not yet delivered on your master's promise. If I’d known your masters agents from Rhudaur would foreclose, I’d have never borrowed from them. Have your 20 spread out and find sustenance in other towns and the countryside. Duinbar across the river, Millbank and Fieldbrook are all prosperous. It shouldn't be difficult to feed only 20. Or better yet, there is a ravine between Millbank and Fieldbrook. Several caves in the area. Look into it."   
"That we will do, but mind you, be at the marker at our appointed time. Or I'll come looking for you."   
"No need of that. If I can't come, I'll see to it that someone does."   
The goblin laughed wickedly and passed through the doorway, into the night.   
Millerson remained in the shack for a while, thinking, planning, and cursing Keren for her flight. He’d only wanted her for revenge, but any other woman would do just as well. Time to forget her and look into other prospects.


	6. Dutiful Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starfoot sets out to investigate the extent of Barad Lomin's problems.

Dutiful Brother

At last the day came when the elves, though still on their guard, returned to the woods to dance, feast and make merry. The stone floor where the bodies of the goblins were burned to ashes had been scoured by the rain and it was now clean and pure, as if only leaves and rain had ever fallen there. The children of the elves gathered around the minstrels and danced as the minstrels played. Keren joined Thistledown and her friends for a while, but she tired more quickly and wished not to slow them in their merriment, so she danced in turns and sat with Lurisa and Springlily. She could sing, or as she said, could carry a tune but not very far and tended to drop it along the way, and consented to perform for them, when Lurisa insisted. Keren wondered at their enjoyment of her silly songs, for to her they were foolish words set to common tunes learned from her mother trying to make her laugh when she was a child. The same archers she had seen in undaunted chase of goblins, now were merry as children. Even Morfindel and Lurisa laughed heartily.   
One song, which at first shocked the elves, ran as follows: 

When in the morn and I awake   
A bird at times into song will break 

Ah! Such a song, so jubilant, so happy and so sweet   
Does early this bright morning rouse mine soul to greet. 

I can not but allow the urge to get up from my bed   
Go to the window, bring down the sash...   
And try to smash its noisy head! 

The last line was not sung but spoken rather fiercely. Breaking their stunned silence, Gil asked "Well? Did you succeed in smashing the poor thing?" to which she responded, "Of course not. The silly creature flew away before I was halfway across the room. This happened every spring morning before dawn when I was a child and ensured that my sisters and I rose before the sun."   
Well, this pleased the elves for they love birds, song birds especially, and never slay them. Then when they thought about the lyric still more they broke into robust laughter at the thought of a mortal being roused from sleep in such a manner.   
Many other such quirky songs she knew and never failed to surprise and delight her listeners. She began to think it was the wine they drank, but when she said so, they only laughed the more, and begged another song. Though her voice had not the art of the elves, they found in her rustic vocalizations an echo of their early attempts. Lurisa privately voiced to Springlily her regret that Keren would not live long enough to exercise her talent to its fullest.   
She crossed paths with Starfoot only at a distance when they bowed greetings from across the clearing or passed by him as he played and she danced. Keren noticed that, at first, he greeted her with joy, but later on he met her with an expression more akin to sadness. She determined, therefore, to no longer follow the elves who flocked near to listen to him sing, but to hear from afar.   
The next day when Keren continued her isolated study of healing goblin caused injuries, Starfoot came looking for another minstrel who had been there but a moment before. Keren smiled and greeted him, but he responded with confusion.   
"How can you greet me so cheerfully?" he asked. "For many days I have not seen you except in the company of another minstrel or Thistledown and her friends. Is mortal woman's heart so fickle that I am replaced so easily?"   
Her smile faded. "My friend," she said, facing him earnestly. "No one can replace you in my heart. By my absence I only hoped to ease the discomfort which besets you at my presence. Time and distance have a way of resolving awkward situations for me, but perhaps it is not the same with elves. Though we had best not allow our hearts to speak openly, I doubt not they would both utter the same words. Forgive me for causing you unintended sorrow, for I never meant to shun you, but to free you."   
He smiled sadly and turned to look out the window at the morning. "Such would be your intentions, and it is a comfort, somewhat." He sighed deeply and was silent.   
She approached him and putting a hand on his arm turned him to face her. Taking his face in her hands, she said "You are dearer to me than any living creature on this Earth. Ask of me anything and I would not refuse."   
Long they stood, locked in each other's gaze. Then the gaze became a long soft kiss and a tender embrace but too soon it ended, for Morfindel entered the archives and, seeing them, he grew angry and ordered Keren out.   
"My lord," she began.   
"Leave!"   
"I will not until I am heard!"   
Morfindel was surprised by her unaccustomed vehemence and indicated she should speak.   
"My lord, blame him not for what you see here, for it was I who kissed him this time, if perchance it may be possible to return what he gave me and release him from this mortal who would too soon bring him to grief. Be not harsh with him for if either of us should be reprimanded, it is I!"   
The elven lord bowed slightly and motioned for her to leave the room, now. This time she obeyed, glancing once at Starfoot and then sweeping out the door. Then Morfindel turned in anger to Starfoot. "Elendal, you assured me you would not consort with her! What enchantment used you?"   
Starfoot was puzzled. The word consort troubled him for he knew not how it applied. And as for enchantments... "I used none, my lord."   
"How can that be?! You must have used some form of subtle enchantment for her to be so devoted to you."   
"Truly, my lord, I used none. I feared she would be lost in the woods when she first fled from us and guided her path to our dwellings. And I feared for her life, as you know already. But I used no enchantment to guide her heart, neither would I."   
Morfindel sighed, a deeply troubled look on his face. "Would that you had, for such spells may be undone. But if this be love of a true heart... Has she learned enchantments, then? What say you of yourself?"   
"I know not, but I do love her, my lord."   
"This is madness! You, of all elves, know the risk of loving a mortal, especially one such as Keren! We both know she is too much one of us to bring forth a halfling, and too much a mortal to bear an elf and live to nurse the child!"   
"And yet my heart is knit to hers with bonds I cannot break!" Here Starfoot leaned on the table and hanging his head, looked down into its richly grained wood, past his own reflection and beyond, following the path which Morfindel also had seen and at which he was dismayed. "I cannot cease to love her without turning to hate and I will not do that. I cannot change my heart, but I can restrain it. There are many degrees and kinds of love. One can be transformed to the other without changing its nature. I will not risk shortening her already brief span of life by making her my lady, so I will look on her as a sister, or daughter. As long as I know she is well and safe, I will be content."   
"Well spoken, my friend," said Morfindel. "Forgive my anger. Perhaps I am too harsh, but I do not want any to suffer what my daughter suffered, seeing her husband die, and then after another three hundred years, watching her half-elven children debate casting their lot with the elves, or with mortal men, only to have them all choose mortality. When she could bear her sorrow no more, she sailed into the West, leaving the task of mourning to her mother and me...” Morfindel was silent a long moment, then said, “Keren has my countenance and that of my lady. She shall stay as long as she will, even to the end of her days. But for your sake, I hope she stays not that long, for to see her leave the earth would grieve you beyond measure. I fear for you, my friend."   
"My lord, what is measure? What does it matters if I grieve now or 20, 50 or 100 years in the future? Already she has been taken from me. Had you warned me when she first fled from us, I fear it would have been too late, for it was then I began to love her. But I pray you, give me leave to go out among her people and discover what I may, for though I doubt her not, I would yet find out if her former suitors yet live. And also to see what may be seen of her kin, for my heart misgives. Danger awaits her there should she return."   
"That I grant. Go and return in peace. Discover what you may of any goblin doings as well. I like it not they passed so near to us. And send word often. But have a care. The Atani are capricious and willful. My father trusted them once, and even men of Numenore were beguiled by the enemy and turned against us. And descendants of my own daughter who live yet in Barad Lomin have proved equally faithless, at times. Be on your guard. Best that you trust them not."   
"Not all men are faithless as Ulfang and Uldor. You are of clearer sight than your father, having never looked on them with his contempt. Had Caranthir known men like the Numenorean sea captain who wed your daughter, he might have judged with more clarity. And do not the descendants of Bor yet reside less than a days journey from here? And remember my lord, I have journeyed among them before. It was I who taught Jack and Sam the way. Fear not for me. As a good brother I shall discover why my little sister was rejected so many times." He laughed, bowed to Morfindel and went out. The elven lord proceeded to seek out the volume he originally came for, a book transcribed for Celebrimbor revealing his methods of smithing mithril, but when he found it and sat at a table, he could not see the page for the water in his eyes.   
“Too late for me as well, Elendal,” he said and sighed, “so it begins again.” Pushing the book away, he sat back and let the tears flow. 

******* 

When elves visit mortals, on occasion they may do so disguised in mortal form. Some elves have more skill at this then others and Holly Starfoot was among the best. Jack and Sam’s comparative youth enabled them to pass for mortals. But Starfoot, though not able to transform himself permanently, could take on the looks of a completely different person, or even a goblin for a time when he set his mind to it. This was not actual shifting of shape, but like putting on a mask. To suit his purpose on this occasion, Starfoot chose to appear as an aged minstrel. No magic potion or spell was required. He merely sat, and thought himself into the guise of his choosing. Straight back and broad shoulders became curved and bent. Knees used to dancing and running through the forest buckled and bowed. Golden hair turned gray and wispy. He chose a viol of aged appearance and not quite able to keep its tune.   
He set out before dawn the following morning, after taking leave of his elven lord, who was startled by the change in his appearance, but nodded approvingly and wished him well. Onward he shambled, growing more accustomed to his new shape as the days and miles wore on. He had chosen clothing of a style known to be favored by a man well into old age and by the time he reached the inn called the Blue Foot, he had become so adept at looking the part of an ancient minstrel even other elves would have seen through his disguise only with the greatest of difficulty.   
He found that he could get a room at the inn for a song. Literally. They had so little music and the guests were so delighted to hear him play they easily forgave him his cracked voice and sang in his stead. Some even invented new words for songs which before had only elven lyrics, and later became quite well known.   
The following day he found transport across the river using money tossed on the table as he played. This generosity surprised him at first, but he remembered Keren saying that, overall, her people were kind hearted, or at least loved to appear so. He followed the road and passed the Woodman farm where he was hailed as a stranger by one of the sons and invited to come in and eat. It was time for the noon meal and though he was not especially hungry, he was thankful for the opportunity. Woodman inquired where he was bound and asked about his business in Barad Lomin and the elf answered that he was merely tired of staying in the same place and wanted to go wandering once more while he still could. Also that he had heard of this town with its tower built over a well which echoed marvelously when it rang the hours and wished to see it for himself. All this was true, for Starfoot did enjoy roaming and seeing new places, or observing changes in places he had seen already. And Morfindel himself had designed the tower for which Barad Lomin was named, laying its foundation with his own hands and his sons helping to construct it for Numenorean seafarers wanting a more inland haven. Starfoot had not seen it in many years.  
Woodman had room for a guest in his house even with three sons, their wives and children under his roof, but the "old minstrel" said that he would rather stay nearer to the center of town so Woodman gave him a letter to present at any house in town and perhaps he could find lodging. The elf thanked him kindly and bade them farewell for the present. He walked down the road, hobbling and looking about, noting the Miller farm.   
In town he encountered the local school master, who saw his viol and asked for a song, if he pleased. All the tunes Starfoot played, the teacher knew. Even had rough renderings of the original words, though the elf had to restrain himself from correcting the gentleman, who was so very delighted in his ancient minstrel/new friend that he invited him to stay at his home. The sight of the letter from Woodman only confirmed his desire to house the "old minstrel" for he and Woodman were good friends.   
The teacher, whose name was Mr. Brown, was guiding Starfoot toward his house when the bells began to ring in the tower.  
“There now!” cried Brown. “We’ll catch them this time!” He raced forward faster than the elf thought an elderly school master could. Starfoot followed close behind and they came to the tower. As fast as his old legs could move him, the teacher climbed the steps circling the upper cistern and reached the top level where the bells were hung. Brown was huffing and puffing, but so angry he hardly noticed. The bells had just ceased to chime and no one else was in sight. “Those confounded boys,” wheezed the aged gentleman. “They come up here and play merry tunes and dirges, then vanish down one of the other three stairways.” Brown sat on a bench near a pillar and tried to catch his breath. “Ah well, it’s a pity your first day among us is spent chasing youngsters up and down the tower steps. The off time chiming of these bells has been blamed on every boy in three towns, yet all deny it, and can prove they were elsewhere.” With that, the teacher slowly rose and began his descent.   
Starfoot waited until Brown had rounded the curve, then leaned close to one of the bells. “I thank you for the welcome,” he said, “but perhaps it would be best not to do that again for some time.”  
The bell uttered a low soft “bongggggg” and was silent.  
When they arrived at the teacher’s home, they found Mrs. Brown tutoring four daughters of families who could afford to send their girls to school. They were in the front room when Mr. Brown and his guest entered. They all stood up and waited to be introduced to the newcomer.   
"My friend, you have yet to tell me your name," said the teacher in mock irritation.   
"My, my my," said the old minstrel. "Call me Ereg, for such was I called until everyone began treating me with too much respect." Ereg is Holly in the elven tongue.   
"As you wish, Mr. Ereg," said Mrs. Brown, misunderstanding his meaning. But it mattered not for soon everyone knew him as Mr. Ereg and the girls were eager to perform their lessons for him. They had all learned to cipher and read and write letters to each other and for their families who had not the time to send greetings to far relations. Some of their stories they read aloud to their visitor, who nodded and complemented them on their progress.   
"My students have also been waiting for a chance to show their abilities," said Mr. Brown, smiling. "Would you be willing to bear with them a while? After you are rested, of course."   
"Of course," said ‘Mr. Ereg,’ secretly delighted to be accepted so quickly. He doubted anyone would have taken him in had he come openly as an elf. Most likely they would have been afraid of him, he supposed. He used his time of repose, feigning sleep, to think and plan and remember.   
In about an hour, he followed Brown to the school house where the older boys were tutoring the younger. At the appearance of their school master, the boys raced to their seats and sat at attention. Brown explained that they had a guest who had some knowledge of music and would be willing to hear them perform. At the end of the day the boys returned home to tell their families about the strange old man who came to their class and could play better than anyone they ever heard.   
The educator and his wife were prolific talkers and a great source of information to Ereg. From them he learned of the aborted union between the families of two great land owners. The intended bride vanished before the wedding and long though they sought her, she was nowhere to be found. When the family discovered she had fled, she had been gone two days. Her father called her and she did not show herself, so he called again. He never had to call more than once before and became angry, then he became afraid. His daughter-in-law, an outsider by Barad Lomin standards named Morwen, came to him and told him the whole story, as she and Keren had agreed that she should. Morwen was a very strong willed young woman and patiently bore with her father-in-law’s rage, then comforted him in his sorrow and regret when he came to his senses.   
Later they found the potential groom was less than honest about his fortunes. He was heavily in debt to unscrupulous agents from Rhudaur and needed the prospects which would have been his by this marriage to prevent foreclosure on all his lands. No one had known anything about his business dealings and many assumed he was prosperous because of his character and high standards of conduct. Brown laughed when he said this and added that he could have informed them of the truth had they been willing to listen, for Millerson was his student at one time and found to be a cheat, a liar, a bully and a troublemaker. Brown refused to teach him after the third year. He blamed Keren not at all for taking flight, if that was indeed what she had done. Had told Woodman so too, repeatedly.   
When the search for Keren was abandoned, Millerson swore that her family was hiding her from him, trying to ruin him, and left town, swearing vengeance on them and any who helped hide his wife, for so he insisted she was. For a time the magistrate of Barad Lomin received report upon report of thievery, destruction of crops and such varying kinds of mischief previously unheard or unthought of by the towns people. He was at a loss what to do to restore the peace and safety they had once known, without resorting to an appeal to the King of Arthedain's magistrate in Duinbar across the river. The magistrate of Barad Lomin was a kinsman of the prince Cardolan and did not wholly trust the knights of King Malvegil because of frequent contention over territory. They were far from the disputed land, however, and lived peacefully with their neighbors across the river. But before Barad Lomin's officials could decide, the trouble ceased as abruptly as it had begun.   
Well, continued the teacher, a few days later Millerson returned, made humble apologies to all, presided over an auction of his father's goods and moved the family into town where he bought a small but adequate home on the poor side of town. His sisters who remained unmarried were sent away to become governesses, maids and housekeepers where they might find positions. The younger boys, nephews to old Miller, joined the King's Knights as squires, for a time, planning to travel with them for two or three years. Millerson himself, his father and mother and an uncle remained and did such jobs as were available: errands, sweeping the walks, hauling debris and refuse, delivering messages, anything which could bring in a few coins or provisions. It was not long before one or two merchants wished to employ them full time and this pleased the man because it gave him a more stable income, some thought, but as it turned out, he was able to play one against the other so expertly that he worked for both, each paying what he would have paid as a daily wage for half a day's work. This was a recent development, having begun only three days ago, said the teacher who wondered how long it would last.   
At this point Ereg begged leave to rest, for the afternoon had worn into evening. The Browns bade him goodnight and he went to his room where he lay on a comfortable bed and drifted off into elvish dreams of his last visit to Barad Lomin when he helped Earlina and Ciryafin move to Dor Luin.


	7. Elves Among Us?

Elves Among Us?

Ereg continued with Brown and his wife a fortnight and in that time taught music classes to any who were interested. Two or three pupils he found with some promise, if not as minstrels, at least for providing entertainment at the tavern. He also took advantage of the opportunity to speak to many of Brown's former students, four in particular. These four men were good friends and visited with the teacher often. One evening over dinner they began to talk of the town's women and discuss their wives, and former betrothed bride. None had abandoned Keren willingly, for they all loved her, but when they found out what happened to her first suitor, they were more willing to take the money offered to break with her, rather than risk murder in the night. Ereg asked them what they meant and one of them, named Garan, after looking out the door and seeing no one else was about, told of Millerson, who had become connected with very powerful and very cruel friends. None could discover just who these friends were, but that first suitor found out and threatened to expose Millerson if he did not release him from their bargain. He threw the money at Millerson's feet, left to reconcile with Keren and was never seen or heard from again, alive. His shredded clothing, staff and boots were found scattered along the river bank. Keren ran to her father’s house distraught, claiming to have found his body, but when they returned to the place they found only blood spots and foot prints like none they had ever seen before. At this point in the story the four of them changed the subject, hoping Keren was still alive, wishing her well, where ever she was and saluting her for having the foresight to escape Millerson, thereby ruining him and vindicating all who spoke against him. Ereg dearly wanted to tell them Keren was alive, well and wanting to return home, but held his peace until they bade him goodnight. This news was troubling. Garan was tall and heavy set with curly black hair and a disarming smile. He had the bearing of one who knew how to handle himself. All four of these men were strong and vital and yet were not ashamed to speak of their dread of Millerson’s friends. The fact that threats from Millerson had them cowed and they admittedly feared him troubled the elf  
The next day, after teaching, Ereg roamed about town, trading gossip with the merchants and their wives. The only places he was unwelcome were the jeweler's and the wine merchants. When he came to their shops and asked if they would allow him a change of scenery they met him with frowns and grumbling. In exchange he offered to play for them but they would have none and sent him out again with gruff words and rough hands.   
Ereg fit in easily with the Green family and Mr. and Mrs. Black for they were gregarious and always ready for a tale or a song. Many other shop keepers gathered at these two shops so they were natural places to listen for the latest news. He had not traveled to Barad Lomin since before the fall of Numenore but had been on many errands to other regions north and south and found his news welcome for many had relations they rarely heard from in those parts. When he was able to speak of some by name, he was instantly welcomed into the townspeople's confidence.   
One day Mrs. Black called him aside. "There is a rumor going about town," she said. "It is reported that Keren Woodman is a hostage of elves," she said.  
"Hostage?!" asked Ereg, incredulous. "Elves? That would be most unusual. I have not known elves to take a woman hostage. Are you sure she is not merely under their protection?"   
"Well, hostage was the word used,” her tone of voice expressing doubt. “I know not the truth of it. I have no experience with elves, sir, and know nothing of a surety about them. But it seems you do?"   
Ereg smiled at Mrs. Black’s narrow look. "I have known elves. Dealt with them on occasion. Played for them in my younger days. But they would have little use for a shriveled old prune like me. Perhaps from kindness they would let me totter about in their midst, but they have their own elvish matters with which to concern themselves and pay little attention to the affairs of mortal men. If this girl is with elves, it is likely they took her in, rather than made her a hostage."   
"That is what Mrs. Seamster said, and Mrs. Green. They would know more about it than I, having grown up near the Black Wood where elves live, they say. And now you, well, that makes a three fold cord, which breaks not easily. Thank you sir. An ease of the mind you have been," Mrs. Black said with a laugh.  
The minstrel played her a tune and went on his way. Presently he came to the Green's shop. He asked there the source of this rumor.   
"What? Heard it too, have you?” asked Mrs. Green. “Why, it was started by Millerson. Wagging his tongue about again, I see."   
Ereg assured her he had not heard it from that source but had endeavored to convince someone who had of its unlikelihood. Mrs. Green made numerous comments about the Millers, all of which her husband asserted to be true.  
“My dear Mrs. Green, I have been told you know elves of the Black Wood, what they call Eryn Vorn,” said Ereg, changing the subject.  
Mrs. Green laughed. “Know them? Well, I shouldn’t say that. Acquainted with a few perhaps. My family lived for generations along the forest edge. Rarely did we see them, and even rarer did we speak. But we had a mutually beneficial relationship, I suppose, trading food for their wares. But when they came among us we hardly knew they were elves, they looked so like us.” Mrs. Green then asked Ereg if he would stay to supper. The old man thanked her but said he was expected at the Browns, however he would be honored to make it another time. The Greens told him to make it tomorrow then and he said he would.   
The disguised elf walked about for a time before returning to the Brown's home. On the way he happened to pass Millerson, who was in a great hurry. Ereg was not in his way and in fact had made an effort to stay out of it, but as he passed, Millerson struck him aside and swore at him, for no other reason Ereg understood than that he was a slow old man. He was more surprised than hurt by the blow but the wine merchant's daughter-in-law did not know this and ran to help him.   
"That brute," she muttered after assuring herself that Ereg was fine. "It's no wonder Keren ran from him. I should do the same in her place. I know not why my father-in-law employs him or why his father permits it."   
They bade each other good day and Ereg walked on, murmuring an enchantment against Millerson noticing the girl. Upon arrival at the teacher's house, Ereg was delighted to find that Woodman and his family had come and would dine with the Brown's. Woodman had also heard the rumor that Keren was held captive of elves, but discarded it as a mere ruse to stir up the indignation of the townsfolk. His father had traveled widely in the north and held lengthy discourse with all the peoples of that region; elves, men and dwarves. If it were said of dwarves, he might believe it, for they were known in the past to care for one injured and then to holding him as hostage until receiving payment from the family. As for Keren, he was sure she was dead. Now he turned his full attention to the rest of his children, for he had many regrets concerning his treatment of his daughter.   
"Lost but not dead," muttered Woodman. "Five children have I lost. One is dead and buried with my wife. Three would not tolerate my harshness after Miriel's death, and now Keren. I do not know where she is, but she was wiser than her father." More than this he would not say and Ereg would not press for he saw the father was grieved.   
Ereg stored this away, to ponder at a later time, and asked if any would care for a song to lighten the somber mood which he feared had been brought on by his own curiosity. All were delighted with this offer and when the teacher brought out his flute and the Woodman sons joined with instruments of their own, it turned into a merry gathering indeed. Merry enough to draw the attention of merry makers at the tavern. During the merriment, the great bell of the tower tolled low and harsh, causing several revelers to wonder about it. But the tolling lasted only a few brief moments and was quickly forgotten. Presently the revelry migrated to the outdoors and became quite a party, until at last, grown weary, the singers and minstrels packed away their instruments, saying the next day would be full of work for them, and they could not stay in bed until noon, as some could, casting humorously disdainful looks at the old man, who laughed and said he was so old, he needed little rest. He most likely would rise to greet the dawn as would they. They took leave saying they would watch the sunrise together and he must perform a suitable song for the occasion. 

*******   
After thrusting Ereg aside, Millerson strode down the street to his house where he told his father and uncle he had business in the next town and set off walking. Now that Millerson could not afford a life of leisure and worked harder than ever in his life, he was no longer fat. On the contrary he was slender and tall with brown hair and eyes and would have been counted handsome if not for his harsh expression. Women cast admiring glances toward him, but only from a safe distance. He walked at a good pace until he reached a marker indicating the crossroads was only one mile away. Here he stood and waited. Presently a cloaked figure came to meet him.   
"Thank you for that nice meal you sent us," said the figure, throwing back its hood. "Have they yet been missed?"   
"They were not due to return from Tharbad until next spring."   
"That is good for you," said the goblin. “And the Master is pleased with the stronghold you provided. We’ve begun 21 new tunnels that...” The goblin paused, grimacing as he sniffed the air.   
"What troubles you?" asked Millerson, annoyed at the goblin's sniffing.   
The creature sniffed once more and looked narrowly on Miller. "If I did not know better, I would accuse you of consorting with elves," he growled.   
"Elves! Impossible!"   
"Yet I catch the smell of one on your clothes. You brushed against one, to be sure."   
"Many have I brushed against today and none are likely to be elves."   
"All the same, there is one in your midst. In disguise. They so love to appear as mighty warriors or venerable old men. If there is an elf about, we want him."   
"If there is an elf about, you may have him. In fact I would dish him up to you after you roast him, but I think you are mistaken."   
The ogre growled and swore. "Do not accuse me of mistakes when you have no idea of what I speak!" He stepped threateningly toward Millerson.   
"Very well! No need for anger. Come into town tomorrow night and sniff him out. But do it unseen. Now may we go on with our business?" As Millerson said this, the echo of the bells reached his ears, and he looked back toward town.   
The creature grimaced at the tower, but said nothing except to agree that they get down to business. He led Millerson off the road, following an overgrown path into the woods, saying, “There are many ways to gain power. It matters not at all that no one will select you for a magistracy, or choose you for a counsel. Someday you’ll be more than magistrate...” 

******* 

When Millerson arrived in town the next morning he went straight to work for Smith, the jeweler, where he found his errands awaiting him.   
"A little late this morning, eh Miller?" commented Smith's son. "Worked a little late with Vines' daughter-in-law?"   
Millerson laughed. "That little snipe?"   
"Hmmm," the boy said, eying him knowingly. "Not what you called her last week. Talking of stealing her from her husband, you were."   
"Yes, well, I have decided to go on to better things. I had business in the next town and hadn’t the time to explain to your father."   
"Explain what? Never mind. Tell me later," said the jeweler, who had come from the back room as soon as he heard Millerson's voice. "Now be off with you. Seamster will be wanting this music box. His daughter's birthday you know. He will be wanting it before noon."   
Millerson nodded and departed the shop with the wrapped parcel which Smith handed him.   
"Now, my boy," said Smith to his son, "what was Millerson wanting to explain?"   
"He had to go out of town yesterday and would be late this morning, I guess," the boy shrugged.   
The bell in the tower struck the fourth hour from sunrise and Millerson muttered to himself as he walked to the Seamster farm. At one time his great grandfather had owned almost the whole of Barad Lomin. Now it belonged to Woodman, Seamster and almost everyone other than old Miller, or his son. Millerson found this irksome, particularly when he considered the glowing promises made to him by the goblin about how his master would reward anyone who aided him in regaining his lost territory.   
"Well, your reward is slow in coming," mused the man as he strode along the south road. "And others are swift to punish..." He thought on this a moment. Who in town could be an elf? He was sure the goblin had been in error, but then again, it would make sense that elves would conspire in the downfall of one who made bold to assist their enemies.   
He passed the New Mill, which now belonged to Woodman and was operated by several young men of the town in his employ. It had become quite a successful business. No one worried that Woodman would exchange poor for good flour as they once accused Millerson of doing. He hated hearing men boast that they could leave their harvest with Woodman and not even inspect the bags for they knew it would be the same wheat, barley, corn or any other grain they may take to the mill to have made into cereal or flour. Some in town seemed to take delight in saying such things in his hearing. And Millerson hated them for it, more than he had hated them for accusing him of cheating them, and proving the accusation.   
Who could be an elf? The question puzzled him. Why, the last person he had brushed against was that troublesome old man... He stopped in his tracks. A smile spread across his face as he again continued on his way to deliver a child's present. Once his errand was done he returned to Smith's and finished the morning’s other errands. After the noon meal he went to the wine merchant's shop and finding there no pressing business, he sat with old Vines, the merchant's father, and listened as he reminisced about his childhood.   
"Have you ever seen an elf?" asked Miller, seemingly off hand.   
"An elf?" laughed the old merchant. "Some say my great great grandmother was one, but that is only rumor. Family tradition. She was merely a bit strange. Lived a good long life, almost 300 years, ‘tis true. Claimed her great great, I forget how many greats, great grand father was an elf, or half-elven. I myself have not seen an elf but once. When I was a small child. Why do you ask?"   
"Oh just a rumor I heard from someone I met yesterday. Claimed there were elves among us."   
Old Vines laughed in delight and slapped his knee. "Well who would say such a thing? Would that it were true! I would be delighted to see one again!"   
"When saw you this elf?"   
"Oh, so long ago, but at my age childhood memories are clearer to me than yesterday. It was after a high holiday and my grandfather took me for a walk at twilight. This was when my family lived on the other side of the river, north of Duinbar. We heard the hoof beats of a horse galloping near us and my grandfather bade me be still and watch. We were in an open place and could not easily hide, but at that time of day if one is still enough he may escape sight a moment or two. Well, we saw a beautiful gray horse bearing a regal looking man. Fair he was, with hair the gold of the morning sky just before dawn, wearing breeches and tunic of such a color, we could not discern it for it looked green, then gray, then brown, changing with the hues of the twilight. I remember he carried a bow with a quiver of arrows at his back. A sword also, but I only glimpsed it from the off side. He glanced in our direction and slowed his horse to a side passing trot with but a single word. It was then I noticed his horse had no bit on its jeweled headstall. A mere pad on its back the only saddle. My grandfather raised a hand in greeting and the elf did likewise before passing us by and riding north. Tales tell of an elven realm there. Many times have I wondered what his business might have been." The old man paused and sighed. "I have often wished to see that elf again. A pity they do not pass this way."   
"Maybe it was just you who was mistaken for an elf," chuckled Millerson and watched the old man beam with pleasure. Vines entered the shop and sat with them, but they spoke no more of elves, for Old Vines knew the subject to be irksome to his son.   
When the day was over and Millerson returned to his house, he met his father at the door. His aged sire was paler than usual and trembled as he peered out at him.   
"Well, let me in," grumbled Millerson.   
"Someone came looking for you," said his father, not opening the door any wider. "Told me to tell you to meet him at the, the usual place, is what he said. Said he would be waiting and you should not even be allowed inside the house until he had spoken to you." With that, old Miller shut the door and latched it.   
Wondering what nonsense this could be, Millerson again headed down the south road. Halfway to the marker the cloaked figure stepped out of the woods.   
"I know who the elf is," said the goblin.   
"Very well. What do you want me to do about it?"   
"Send him to us," the creature growled, almost a whine. The goblin's eyes shown red beneath its hood and Millerson was afraid.   
"Who is it?" Millerson stammered.   
"The old minstrel. The one staying with the teacher. Bring him to us. Under any pretense."   
"And if he will not come?"   
"Then we will come for him!"   
Millerson agreed and fled back to his house where he found himself locked out. He pounded on the door until his uncle opened it. Inside he saw his father sitting weakly on a chair by the fire, his shawl over his shoulders, staring at the flames without blinking, Mrs. Miller hovering about him like a bird flutters over her chicks.   
"What ails him?" grumbled Millerson.  
"He saw a goblin," said the uncle in a hoarse whisper.   
"Did he? When and where?"   
"It was from a goblin he received the message for you," responded his mother.  
"How know you this?   
"Because we saw it too. Tall it was, but squat with big eyes and hideous toothed." The uncle shuddered and turned away from Millerson to tend his brother.   
Millerson turned from them to find something to eat.   
"The larder is bare," called his mother. "The beast would not leave until it had consumed every last crumb in the house."   
Swearing under his breath, Millerson left the house and headed for the tavern where he met Barber and the old minstrel, Ereg, talking quietly. When they saw him they spoke up.   
"Ah! There you are!," said Barber. "Someone we have here who knows a bit of goblin scares. I looked in on your father earlier but must confess, it is beyond my skill to help him. At his age, I fear there is not much to be done but Ereg here says not to give up hope."   
Ereg smiled and nodded.   
"We were just going to see him now," continued Barber.   
"Then I should be going with you," said Millerson and would have followed but was prevented by the Tavern keeper.   
"Nonsense. Let those that know deal with it. You’ve had naught to eat since lunch and are likely hungry," the keeper's wife, Mrs. Barber, said, putting a tankard of ale and a large bowl of stew on a table before him. "Your father seems to think the goblin was coming for you," she added pointedly and left him.   
"We’ve been worried about you of late," said the tavern keeper, who was a large, blue eyed, sandy haired man not much older than Millerson.   
"Yes, well, seems everyone knows my business as well as I," Millerson muttered between bites.   
"Better, some would say," said a man from a far corner.   
"Oh? And who might you be?" retorted Millerson.  
"I might be the elf you seek. And I might be the King of the Corsairs, or Malvegil himself in disguise. Yet I’m none of those. Just a knight of Arthedain, and not one of great consequence, other than as a bearer of news, for I have tidings of your young kinsmen, if you care to hear it. But it can wait until after your meal." The knight walked toward Millerson as he spoke. He was tall with dark brown hair and gray eyes and carried himself with the confidence of one who knew how to fight, but preferred to jest.  
"What? Are they dead?"   
"No. But perhaps it would be better if they were, but we’ll see. After you finish your meal."   
"I have a strong constitution. What happened to them?"   
"Nothing yet. They’re being held in Duinbar and are no longer welcome in Arthedain. We’ve no need of their lot with us."   
"What have they done?"   
"Two robbed a man. The other two threatened to kill a merchant and misuse his wife and daughter. The magistrate of Duinbar knows the magistracy of Barad Lomin will support his decision. Perhaps he will turn them over to the us to retrain in the ways of civilized behavior and make them pay back what they stole. Maybe he will deal harshly with them to make an example of those who use squiredom and knight’s apprenticeship for unlawful and cruel purposes. All the same, if you wish to see them, you must go to Duinbar soon. They will not be more than seven days in the Magistrate's keeping. A fortnight at most."   
At that moment Barber and Ereg returned. Their faces were grave as they approached Millerson.   
"Your father is not well," said Barber. "Maybe you should go home and sit with him. He has asked for you."   
Ereg went to visit with the knight and Barber walked with Millerson to his house.   
"Glad I am to see you still here," Ereg said. "How took he the news of his kinsmen's doings?"   
The man's face clouded. "Very hard to discover. He seemed more troubled by some other thing. As if his kin were a mere distraction. Even for his father he seemed hardly grieved."   
"I should like to know what that distraction is," mused Ereg.  
The man nodded, then said "and I should like to know who you really are," a glint in his eye, speaking in a low voice.   
Ereg smiled. "Well, I am what I seem to be. An old minstrel a touring while he still may."   
"So you seem," said the knight. "I’ve heard your name from others in the north and they doubt you not, so I’ve no fear you mean harm. But I’m curious. Ereg, in the elven tongue means 'holly' does it not? How came you by such a name?"   
"My parents, of course," answered Ereg, mildly.   
"And how long ago was that?"   
"A very long time," said Ereg, a glint now in his own eye.   
"Are you an elf?"   
"Of course!" laughed Ereg. "Do I not look like one?"   
The knight smiled. "That you do not. Which causes me to wonder. What is your purpose here?"   
"Will you not walk with me a while? My old limbs feel the need of a stretching," said Ereg, making as if to return to the teacher's house.   
"I’ll most assuredly see you to your place of repose," answered the knight and together they bade the tavern keeper and his wife a good night, who nodded as they busied themselves about their own affairs, having heard not a word of the exchange between the knight and the old minstrel.   
Along the way to Brown's house, which was very near the tavern and could quickly be reached from the back door, Ereg told the knight of Keren's arrival with the elves and the destruction of the goblin troop. The knight listened intently and hardly noticed when Starfoot stretched his arms, discarding his disguise for a time.   
"My main purpose," he said in his own clear voice, which the knight noticed and started slightly, then chuckled as the elf continued, "was to see exactly why her previous suitors rejected her, and if there might be a connection between them and Millerson."   
"And you found...?"   
"There is," said the elf, with a troubled brow. "And the more I find out, the deeper it becomes. We meet at an opportune time. This sighting of a goblin by Old Miller, the message from the creature to Millerson, causes me grave concern that goblins are again gathering their forces."   
"Think all the elves so?"   
"My own kin are in agreement, which is why my elven lord permitted me this journey. We stopped that troop of goblins not long ago, moving from the east toward the southwest. From the east does little news come to us and from the south none at all. My elven lord has sent me no word of his thoughts on this matter, though I have sent much to him."   
"By what means?"   
"Oh, come now! The usual birds and squirrels. Have you not seen me whistling and playing to the creatures in my old man's guise?"   
The knight chuckled. "I had but arrived this morning and saw you on the school house steps. I’m embarrassed to say I thought you merely a doddering old fool."   
"Thank you!" the elf laughed merrily, "for you assure me that my enchantments work, if they can fool even a knight. Now if you will bid me good night," he said as he sat on the step of the teacher's house and once again enfolded himself into the shape of an old man, "I shall do the same to you. But I think neither of us will sleep this night."   
"Then I bid you good night," said the knight in a normal tone then lowered his voice again. "Yet I wonder that you ask me no account of myself."   
"Yes, good night my boy," said Ereg, not concealing the elvish light in his eyes when he added in a voice only the knight could hear, "I know already who you are, for much like your father are you in looks and manner. Good night, Brogan, son of Broluin." With that the "old man" stood and hobbled into the house to be greeted by the teacher who was eager to hear all Ereg had to say about the events of the day.   
The knight chuckled again and returned to The Ringing Well Tavern and Inn where the proprietor kept a knight’s room always ready.


	8. A Trap Gone Awry

A Trap Gone Awry

Millerson left the following day with the knight and Ereg, who stated he wished to see Duinbar again and begged leave to travel with them. It was a three day journey on foot so they acquired horses from a farmer who often loaned his horses on such occasions. The knight had his own horse. At first Millerson was brusque with the old man, but when he saw Ereg could set a horse well and keep up, he was silent, considering it possible that he just might be an elf after all.   
They arrived in Duinbar the next evening and were welcomed by friends of the knights at the Mariners Inn and given lodging for as long as they wished. It had been quite a long time since Ereg/Starfoot had visited Duinbar and though he found much changed, many things were the same. The town was bigger and did more traffic on the river but many names he remembered, though these were great and great great grandchildren of those he had known. He spoke of this only to the knight in private while Millerson visited his cousins in the Magistrate's keeping.   
Millerson, for his part, listened to the bitter whining of his eldest cousin, the rambling legal discourse of his second and the sullen observations of the younger two. He could do nothing for them but listen and leave them to the mercy of the court, advising them to accept the judgment passed on them and bide their time until they were free, at which point they would be on their own. He doubted he would be in a position to help them then any more than he was now in spite of promises made by powerful acquaintances. He warned them to bide their time until his fortunes turned around. The next day he returned to Barad Lomin and kept his appointment with the goblin two days later.   
"Well, where is the elf?"   
"With a knight in Duinbar. Heard you of my kinsmen?"   
"Yes. Too bad they were caught. Bring the elf with you to our next meeting. We will be waiting for him. Twenty of us should be sufficient for one elf."  
"No doubt. What hear you of your kin? Are they coming?   
The ogre sneered. "They are coming but only by twos and threes. We will not again pass by the elvish woods or risk moving in greater numbers until we know we can do so safely."   
"Still biding time, just as I told my cousins."   
"That is right. You should do the same. Though we arrive in smaller numbers, still we are here, and more than 35 are we now. Be not too hurried to grasp what you want. Even I know a premature reach often loses all."   
"Perhaps. But you’ve not such a limited life span. We will bide time until time runs out. Sometimes the choice is either to grasp prematurely, or not at all."   
"You need not fear that. We will see to it that you get your chance," said the ogre and proceeded to teach Millerson some of the finer points of manipulating events to his advantage. Though goblins were not known for wisdom, some there were, crafty beyond measure, who, to mortals of a greedy, grasping nature, might pass as wise. This goblin was one such creature, to whom Millerson listened willingly.   
In the days following Ereg’s return from Duinbar, Millerson feigned friendship, inviting him to walk and talk as if he really would hear what the old man had to say. For his part, Ereg was somewhat amused and curious as to Millerson's true purpose. He went along, answering questions and conversing as if he doubted not that Millerson had become a true penitent for all his past misdeeds, though Millerson only weakly said such.   
One evening, as they walked the road south of town, Millerson paused at a stone road marker, making as if to gaze at the stars while Ereg pointed out the constellations as the elves knew them, comparing them to the names given them by men. Suddenly a dark shape appeared near the road, followed by several others. Now the true nature of the creatures could not be hidden from an elf such as Ereg Elendal, for as a spirit being contained in a physical form, living in two worlds at once, he was able to discern from afar who, or what, approached. The instant Ereg knew what came toward them, he saw Millerson's purpose as if it were a map drawn in the middle of the road. He glanced once toward Millerson, who shifted his feet uncomfortably at the glimmer which now was in the "old man's" eye. A false cry of fear died on Millerson's lips and escaped only as a sigh.   
With a rush the goblins were upon them. In an instant Starfoot threw off his disguise and spread his arms high overhead, blazing forth with a light blinding to the goblins eyes, causing them to fall back, cringing and gnashing their teeth. Millerson cowered behind the elf, having never seen such display of power. Words he heard spoken in the elven tongue which set the goblins to flight, not even looking behind them, seeking a place to hide from this elf who was more powerful than they had expected. When the goblins were gone, Starfoot lowered his arms, and rest them on his staff. He laughed merrily at the goblin's flight, then turned to face Millerson.   
"So, you would presume to wed Keren Woodman, whom we call Elf-friend, Goblin-bane and Teli the Jester? Beware lest she mistake you for a goblin and slay you," said the elf.  
Millerson was afraid, for he was accustomed to looking upon others the way this elf looked upon him. Such contempt he had never read on another face. There was a time, as little as three months before, when he could have sent an employee scurrying to his knees, begging for forgiveness with such a look, but that time was past. Millerson suddenly realized his hands were shaking and his knees were knocking. With all the will in him, he straightened himself, clenched his fists and stood still. The elf raised an eyebrow, then without another word, enfolded himself once more into his old man's guise and hobbled back toward town.   
Surely this must be the elf which Old Vines had seen with his grandfather, reasoned Millerson. He was regal enough in looks, and though he carried no weapon other than his staff, and his hair was maybe a little darker than Old Vines described, it could be. Suddenly Millerson was angry. What right did elves have to meddle in the affairs of men? They were proud and haughty and contemptuous of the mortal lot. Keren was counted an elf-friend? So be it. Millerson determined to find the goblins and swear to them he would help them get this elf. But if he tried to find them now, he was sure they would rend him to pieces. He would send them another gift, such as he could arrange. Walking the two miles home he pondered and schemed a way to send them another horse and rider. Perhaps that knight. Millerson was sure he could convince him that this encounter with the goblins was a chance mishap, no matter what that elf said. Along the way, the bells of the tower clanged and clattered in a harsh tolling which distracted Millerson only a little. They kept up the racket until Millerson was almost at his door. “Those brats will pay for that infernal noise, if I ever catch them,” he growled to himself. With these thoughts in mind, he entered his house and cried out in dismay. The front room was a shambles. Furniture overturned, thrown and broken. Tatters of cloth scattered across the room. One scrap, pinned to the wall by a kitchen knife on which were written in red the words "WE ARE NOW EVEN," was his mother's apron.   
"I heard someone cry out! What..." shouted the tavern keeper at the door. He looked about the room, mouth open, question unfinished as he watched Millerson spring into the other room and come back slowly, head in hands, wailing in despair. The tavern keeper pushed past him, followed by Black, Green, Seamster and several other townsmen who gathered at the Ringing Well for a pint and a visit. All they found in the room was a pile of bones on the floor by the hearth. The men covered their mouths, some crying out in surprise and fear, others turning away and rushing quickly out. The tavern keeper and Black took hold of Millerson and guided him to the tavern. They made Millerson sit still in a back room, used by the tavern keeper for an afternoon nap, as he rambled and raged, blaming someone without name for all his misfortunes.   
A boy ran for Brown, who came at once with his wife, who brought potions that she knew to give for mental distress. Brown called for Ereg, but at the mention of the old man's name, Millerson raged all the more so they decided not to fetch him, but to go speak with him.   
The usually gentle old man was quite stern with them when they arrived at the teacher's home, saying there was nothing he could do for Millerson, for he was the cause of his own misfortunes and if there was something he could do, he doubted Millerson would accept his aid. Ereg stated he would most likely be leaving soon, within the next two or three days at most. He had had enough of Millersons scorn and foolishness and although he held the other towns people in high regard, he felt it best that he should return home now and cause them no further trouble. He refused to state specifically what Millerson had done to cause such displeasure but the anger in the old man's eyes was enough to prevent further questioning, even from the Magistrate when he was called.   
The Magistrate, for his part, demanded to know where Millerson had been that evening, for Millerson would only shriek "Ask the Elf! Ask him! He knows! He sent them!" They assumed this was due to his madness at the loss of his kin in such a horrible manner and took measures to restrain him but he broke free and fled the town. They knew not where and did not follow for Barber said "Let him go. He will come to his senses in time. When next he comes in for a pint, we’ll have him."   
Two days later Ereg set out for the north after bidding farewell to the teacher and those whom he had come to know best. He sought out Old Vines, for the old man had become a particularly fond acquaintance of late, even though his son chased the minstrel from the shop.   
He stopped by the Woodman farm and visited long with them. He was constrained to stay the night for they would not permit him to risk a journey after dusk. Woodman's sons had taken up residence in their own houses on parcels of what had been Miller's land. They bought the major portion at the land auction and had just recently refurbished the houses to their liking. Morwen convinced her husband to remain at the old house with Woodman for she would not leave him alone, certainly not after what happened to the old Miller brothers.   
Woodman would have him stay longer for he had grown fond of the old minstrel who knew songs his wife had sung, but Ereg regretfully took his leave the next morning, saying perhaps one day they would meet again. None could say they would not.   
Onward he journeyed, crossing the river and coming to the old Inn that evening. He saw Sam and Jack were about, nodding to them as they greeted him on the street and asked him what such an aged gentleman was doing out and about far away from hearth and home. He chuckled and in his cracked old man's voice, answered nonsensically, inwardly amused that he knew them while they showed no sign of knowing him as they went on their merry way. But they were young and had not Morfindel’s insight. The elven lord would soon instruct them on that matter, no doubt.   
He reached the fork in the road the next afternoon where his homeward path bore northward. Looking about him, for he sensed he was being followed, and not by Jack and Sam, he continued on his way. Though he thought it too soon to discard his disguise, he hobbled less and strode more surely than an old man would.   
"So you think to escape me!" cried a voice from behind. It was Millerson. "You shall pay for the wrongs you have done me!"   
"It is not I who have wronged you," said Starfoot, turning to face the man. "You have wronged yourself by aligning with goblins."   
Enraged, Millerson sprang at the elf who still in form of an old man, grappled with him and would have prevailed had he not been unwilling to harm Millerson. But mercy to the merciless was misguided and Millerson stabbed the elf between the ribs with a knife. Wounded, the elf abandoned all gentleness and struck Millerson across the temple a single blow with his walking stick. With all the strength remaining in him, he fled toward the elven halls and home.  
Millerson knew not what hit him. He lay on the path unconscious until at last near sunset, he came to himself, still grasping the blood stained knife in his hand. Looking about, he left the road and traveled east, swearing never again to deal with goblins except as their master, and vowing revenge on the elves and the people of Barad Lomin for all time.


	9. Elmoth and Elendal

Elmoth and Elendal

All elves filled Keren with a sense of wonder and amazement, even after living with them so closely, but none more than one whom she had met only recently in the company of his parents, Neldoras and the lady Springlily. But he seemed unwilling to speak with her. The other elves treated him with even more reverence than they did Morfindel and Lurisa, and these two themselves bowed to him when they met. Most strange, Keren thought it, that an elf child who looked to be of no more than 16 years should be regarded with such honor.   
She asked Thistledown the reason for this and for once her tutor refused to answer, saying that if she wanted to know who he was, she should ask him herself and not trouble others with her curiosity. Feeling rebuffed, Keren went to the library, seeking solace from some elven poet. The boy was there and was just about to quickly exit when she called to him   
"Wait!"   
He paused and looked at her.   
"Might I ask you two questions, please?"   
The elf child nodded consent.   
"Do you avoid all of mortal kind or have I done something to cause your disfavor that you refuse to speak to me?" she asked.  
"You've done nothing to cause ill will. What may your second question be?"   
Keren blushed. "That was my second question. The first was merely to ask leave to ask a question."   
The youth laughed brightly. "Too long have you been companion of Thistledown! But you are close to the mark. I have known, and lost, many friends of mortal man."   
"And perhaps you do not wish to add more sorrow to the tale of your life?" she ventured.   
He smiled, bowed to her and passed silently from the room.   
Springlily found Keren later that day and, kind as she always was, understood Keren's wonder, for she herself was in wonder at her child. Although he was her son in one sense, in another he was her husband's lord and captain and near kinsman.   
"Remember you, many of the songs which we sing of a mighty captain who fought the, well, the creature we do not name, and aided his people in their escape with his own life?"   
Keren nodded and recalled the tale of Glorfindel and the fall of Gondolin.   
"This is he, returned to us after many years of rest. He has chosen to return to Middle-earth for reasons he will not reveal other than to say he felt compelled to return, for something yet remains that he must do. He approached us in a vision, asking that we provide him with a habitation for his spirit, for the Powers had given him leave to return to Middle-earth. Neldoras and I both were visited by dreams and omens warning us of something to come and being certain this was the thing, granted it full willingly, for he was our elven lord when we lived in Gondolin and has ever been in our thoughts and songs. Now to have him with us again is more than we could hope. Elves reborn among their children or grandchildren are not at all uncommon, but few there be who retain memory.”  
“Memory of what?” asked Keren, much intrigued.  
“When elves are reborn, we do not remember all that was past until reaching adulthood. This grace is granted us to enjoy the love of two sets of parents and two childhoods. Yet Glorfindel remembers his previous existence even now, as a youth. It is a rare thing. You must not reveal that he is with us, for he has asked that we keep silence, though he did grant that I tell you. He wishes that we not make his presence known until he returns to his full stature."   
Keren swore herself to secrecy and never again spoke of the boy to any, not even Thistledown. Strangely enough, he ceased to avoid her and often came to the archives when she was there pouring over a book of herb lore. Much he knew already and though his subject of study he did not reveal to her, he helped her find obscure passages in other works relating to medicines and healing. He once told her that Neldoras and Springlily called him Elmoth, after the place where Elwë first saw Melian, and she could do the same.   
One day Keren accompanied him, Springlily and several others as they roamed about at twilight, gathering herbs, roots and fruit for the evening meal, as was their custom. They kept lush gardens scattered all about Dor Luin. Different plants and herbs grew better in different places. Anyone unfamiliar with elves would not even recognizes the gardens for what they were. The elf ladies directed Keren which herbs they required for the venison. She was gathering onions, carrots and cabbage from a garden not far from the path to the road near the trees of guard when she spied an aged gentleman approaching from the south. The elf ladies saw him also and concealed themselves, thinking him to be a wanderer or elf seeker. Elmoth stood motionless to the side, not hiding himself, but watching intently, for he sensed something of this old traveler which eyes could not see.   
Keren had not their skill of concealment so she also stood motionless, watching him hobble along. He stumbled and fell to his knees and with great difficulty struggled to his feet using his staff. Keren's heart lurched within her as she watched and taking pity on him stepped forward, saying, "Here, grandfather. Lean on my arm. Perhaps I shall not be so unwieldy a walking stick."   
The old man looked at her with rheumy eyes and his toothless mouth smiled. "Thank ye, my dear," he said and took her arm.   
She observed how he walked, favoring his right side. He must have been tall in his youth, she reasoned for even stooped as he was and shriveled, he was more than her height. The hood over his head was old and tattered but of a rich material. He stumbled again but she held him up and spared his knees another blow.   
"Where are you going?" she asked.   
"Oh, just to the house of my elven lord for on an errand have I been and must needs give an account."   
"An urgent errand it must have been, to send one so aged," observed Elmoth, still looking keenly at the man from where he stood near a large cedar tree.   
At this the old man chuckled merrily but abruptly grimaced in pain. Keren would have guided him to a tree root where he could sit and rest but as she was leading him he again stumbled. This time she could not hold him up and he went down. As a fold of his cloak moved she thought she saw a dark stain on his clothing and knelt beside him to look more closely.   
"Oh sir! You’re hurt!" she exclaimed as she moved his clothing away from the wound. "How came you by such a wound?" She aided him lying down and would have questioned him further, but as he stretched out he seemed to faint. Keren gasped as much to her surprise, the old man began to transform and take the shape of an elf, and that elf was Holly Starfoot. Keren gave a cry of alarm and called to Elmoth, who had already sprung to her side.   
“Elendal, your disguises will be your undoing one day,” he murmured and aided Keren inspecting the wound.  
The ladies saw and sped to the elven hall to summon elves to carry him to the house of healing.   
Keren had never heard that elves could be wounded, and now here was one, prostrate and dazed from a knife wound and she sought about her for a way to staunch it. Presently Starfoot opened his eyes, coming a little out of his swoon and looked at her.   
"Hail Keren, well met. I knew you not until this moment."   
"Well met indeed. I also knew you not. How came you by this wound?" she demanded, her sight blurred with tears.   
"Going about among mortal men, to see what I should see."   
"And what did you see?"   
"The reason you were wise to fly from such an arranged marriage."   
"What?! Went you among those treacherous people?! For no other reason?! Oh, it was a fools errand, and here you are dying and I have not the skill to help you!"   
"Not dying, only wounded. Millerson can not kill an elf so easily," he said, attempting to comfort her.   
"Were you mortal man, I would find a needle and sinew and stitch the flesh together to heal, but I know not what to do for an elf. You churlish elf! Do not dare to die and leave me! If any sense of fair play remains with you, you must live and strengthen yourself so that I may have opportunity to berate you properly!" she stammered through her tears and failed of words completely for she could but sob while Elmoth probed the wound to see how deep, how long and how wide it truly was. Starfoot reached a hand to brush the tears from her face and looked at them as they ran down his fingers, dropping into the wound.   
Half a dozen elves rushed to them bearing a litter and knelt beside Starfoot as Elmoth pulled Keren away. They asked questions of the fallen elf which he answered weakly. He gestured to her once and the others looked at her, then back at him and nodded. They placed him on the litter and would have borne him away speedily but he grasped her hand and would not release her until he again fell into a swoon and his grip loosened. They then sped away with him, leaving Keren to weep on the shoulder of Elmoth. 

Morfindel was in a fury when informed of how Starfoot was injured. His face darkened as the sky of an approaching storm and all whose memory reached back into the ages noted how much he resembled his father, Caranthir. Little said he of his thoughts, and none pressed him as he called his captain to speak in private. When at last he broke counsel, he inquired for Keren, who was not to be found in her usual places. At last they found her at the falls where they went to draw water, speaking with Elmoth.   
"I should never have come here," she said. "It is because of me that Starfoot is wounded, perhaps even by the very knife that slew my first suitor, for the injuries are so alike. I cannot forgive myself. Why did I not pass on to my kin in the north rather than bring trouble to..."   
"Blame not yourself," said Morfindel and she sprang to her feet at the sound of his voice. "Often happenings come to pass unlooked for. It is of his own doing that Starfoot was injured. You need not fear for him for elves are not so easily slain. And," here the elven lord added with a wry smile, "among elves, a woman's tears have their own healing enchantment when they fall on a wound for which they are shed. Be comforted, for Starfoot shall recover. But we must consider how to deal with his attacker and for that we need your wisdom, for you know your people."   
"I will help where I am able," said Keren, looking from one elf to the other.   
Morfindel bowed to her and indicated she and Elmoth should follow him to a counsel. Neldoras was there, as were several others, including Lurisa. Keren sat beside her and listened to the elven lord and his counselors discuss what was to be done. They would not go in open war against Barad Lomin, of course. But they felt it needful to warn the people of the town that they were in danger of being overrun by goblins if they were not vigilant.   
At the mention of goblins, Elmoth shifted in his seat and spoke. "The world is changing. The time comes for us to seek the Havens or unite with Imladris. I will soon join Cirdan, or Elrond and his sons."   
"As will many of us," said Morfindel softly, glancing at Lurisa who nodded agreement.   
"We should confer with the knights of Arthedain and Cardolan," suggested Neldoras. “For goblins are hiding in their midst and it concerns them as well.”   
At last they determined that a consortium of elves and men should meet with the magistrate, to ask that Millerson be delivered to them for judgment. Morfindel dispatched messengers to Duinbar, Tharbad and other places where knights were known to reside. Jack and Sam volunteered to spy out events in Barad Lomin itself, since they felt more responsible than Keren for Starfoot's injury. Morfindel dismissed the others and motioned for Neldoras and Elmoth to follow him to the archives where they shut themselves in, seeking books and scrolls with which to advise the knights when they arrived.   
The messengers returned two weeks later, except Jack and Sam who had taken jobs at the New Mill in Barad Lomin and sent daily messages by way of sparrows. The news they sent was troublesome. Millerson had returned after attacking Starfoot and behaved quietly for several days. They reported that he went for a walk every night along Fieldbrook Road, always turning about at the same marker. Said it was merely a constitutional walk for his health and nothing more. However, the two elves had seen him leave the road and go to a small shack on two occasions where he met with others of undetermined kind. Sam said they looked like goblins, but Jack insisted they might be nothing more than grotesquely shaped men. Which was true could only be discovered by one more learned than they, so they sent descriptions of the creatures for the elven lords to consider.   
With the messengers came ten knights - rough, weather-beaten men, dark haired and gray eyed. Five of Cardolan and five of Arthedain. Knights of the two provinces mixed freely this far from Fornost and Tharbad. Families crossed the river frequently between Duinbar and Barad Lomin. Many had sons in the service of both King and Prince. Keren recognized them, though they passed through Barad Lomin infrequently. She was always respectful of them for she knew what they were about. Her father let them use his old family home in the orchards. He did this quietly and few there were in Barad Lomin who knew of it for the knights came and went unseen. Keren's three eldest brothers visited on occasion and informed her of the latest news, but she had not seen them in more than three years, when they quarreled with their father and departed in anger.   
The elves held a banquet in honor of their guests, who showed well in the merry making that they were not all so grim as their faces would lead one to believe. One came up to Keren laughing, "Do you not remember me?"   
"How can I not know my eldest brother," she laughed in delight, “thought I’m somewhat put out at your absence these three years. Our father is not easily dealt with these days.”  
Her brother laughed and said, “That is exactly why I have avoided him. He looks right past me and our brothers, speaking to our companions rather than to us. He makes speech impossible, we choose to let him forsake us, though we regret having to forsake you.”  
They stood off to the side sharing news of their doings most of the evening. He told her of her other two brothers, now in the north near what was once Annuminas, for though the city was abandoned yet some remained who kept a estates there. Mostly they were descendants of those, much like themselves, fallen from King’s or father’s favor at the time Annuminas was abandoned.  
Starfoot also, recovered from his wound, was again merry. Putting on her most grim, scolding face, she asked her brother to wait a moment while she lit into a friend who had wronged her. Keren walked to him and said, "Well, friend Starfoot, I see you are recovered enough. Are you prepared for your berating?"   
The knights, other than her brother who knew his sister well, would have thought her serious, if not for the sparkle in her eyes. As it was, after Starfoot bowed to her and begged her to continue, they followed her words as closely as they could, making appreciative noises as men do when amused.   
"You fool of an elf! Why did you not ask someone to accompany you on the road at least?! Or if not that, you could have informed Jack and Sam of your whereabouts and they could have guarded your flanks. But no! You had to play your joke on them regardless of the consequence. Surely you do not need a mortal woman to tell you that the world is a dangerous place, for you knew it well before I, before even my great grandmother was ever born! Did you think you could sing to them and make them fall at your feet? Great singer and minstrel that you are, I doubt the local clods from whom you were seeking knowledge could have wit enough to appreciate it..." She continued in this manner for a long while until at last, having said all that she would, she ceased. Then, after a breath she added, "Thank you for bearing with me in my displeasure, my friend. So glad am I to see you whole again, will you not ask me to dance and let us forget past grievances?"   
Starfoot bowed to her and said, "I accept your displeasure in the spirit which it was intended and look forward to the time when I may berate you for putting yourself in danger of goblins when you should have fled. But let us not speak of such things now. Will you not dance?" He extended his hand, palm upward. She curtsied and placed her hand in his and together they joined the dance.   
"Who is she?" asked a knight.   
"That would be Keren Woodman, the daughter of Old Woodman of Barad Lomin, and a good match for a knight would she be," answered her brother who was called Argus, poking his elbow in his friend Brogan’s side.   
"Yes, but would a knight be a good match for her?" asked still another, laughing and slapping his two friends on the back.   
"She seems already matched with an elf," observed Brogan, “and out of knights' reach." He watched Keren dance until the Captain of Morfindel's host called them over to speak with him.


	10. Morfindel's Counsel

Morfindel’s Counsel

Once the messengers and knights had rested from their journey, they held counsel. They compared reports of goblin sightings and movements of other folk, activities in the various regions of the king's subjects and enemies. Barad Lomin was only a small town on the southern bank and the first bend of the Baranduin, in western Cardolan. Duinbar, the southernmost town of Arthedain, was only a minor seaport. The elves doubted they fared differently than any others. From scattered regions where dwelt kindreds of elves they received news that dwarves of the mountains were again being harassed by strong goblin forces and other dark things were stirring which only the elves remembered fully and men knew as tales from their grandfathers. Men strove with each other for the possession of this hill or that vale and loyalties were strongly divided between the three provinces, Rhudaur having proved renegade. The prince of Cardolan wanted the watch tower of Amon Sul, and the palantir with it, but was more willing that Arthedain should keep it than to have it fall to Rhudaur. In truth, the region where the three provinces joined was hotly contested and the knights gathered were of differing opinions. They would have argued vehemently, but Morfindel was master of his counsel. At the elven lord’s insistence they set disagreements aside until they could determine what was to be done now.   
After much telling of news, Morfindel turned to Keren. "What say you? Think you Millerson is in league with Goblins?"   
Keren had listened closely, for the subject matter interested her deeply. Again she had been invited to the counsel and sat near Lurisa, and, although they were welcome to hear, rarely were the womenfolk asked to speak. Startled, Keren sat dumbly until Lurisa took her hand, saying "Be not daunted by them in counsel. They are the same with whom you eat and drink and dance."   
Somewhat reassured, Keren said, "It would surprise me not at all, for often have I seen him behave in a manner intended to please and undo the deed in secret. He gives alms and steals the gift away again. Although I’ve no proof, still I fear him to be a murderer, for the wound I saw on Starfoot was very much like the one I saw on the body of my first fiancé. If Starfoot says Millerson attacked and wounded him after trying to waylay him in league with goblins, I would believe elf over Millerson, no matter what witnesses are brought forth stating the contrary, even if my own father were among them."   
"Would you wed the man?" asked a knight.   
"Tempt me not!" answered Keren, with a sharp look. "I might, just for the chance to put a knife in his heart. For that reason and that reason only would I consent to be his bride. Tempt me not with murder."   
Only Keren’s brother was not surprised by this statement, and he smiled grimly and nodded. “Millerson has not changed since our childhood. Or only for the worse.”  
"How well know you the town and its folk?" asked another knight.   
"Very well. As a child I was free to follow my brothers where they went. We played often in the woods on my father's land and in company with other children we explored all the deep dark places within five miles. With my father have I gone on many errands to Duinbar, Fieldbrook and Millbank. As for the folk, I’ve done business with everyone and can tell you who is likely to deal fairly with a stranger and who is not."   
"Is there a place where a host of goblins could hide?" asked Neldoras.  
"A host? Not a large one, but perhaps thirty could find place near Fieldbrook. Between Millbank and Fieldbrook there is a ravine with caves perhaps a mile away to the east of the road. As children we often resorted there but it’s become foul in recent years. Few go there now, except to discard the carcass of a large animal. I know not for certain but have been told that anything left one day will be gone the next. So it’s been said for several years but I know not why, or even if it be true."   
"I know the place," said Brogan. "It would be a perfect place for goblins in our midst. I’m ashamed that I thought not of it."   
"I thought not of it until questioned," said Keren. "Perhaps you, in your travels have seen other places which I haven’t."   
"Perhaps we will all think of such possibilities, now that we are united in purpose," observed Neldoras. 

Now it should be known that elves can hold counsel for days on end when needed, taking not so much as a moments break. However, the knights being men, Morfindel granted them leave to walk about and stretch their limbs for a few hours. Keren and her brother again walked about talking. The elves took advantage of the rest as well, thankful for a respite from such unpleasant discussion.   
Brogan and Starfoot roamed about a while, fencing here, drawing a bow there and enjoying each other's company. The elf was much recovered and relished his regained mobility.   
"The woman, Woodman's daughter and my companion's sister, seems quite fond of you," said Brogan to Starfoot as he lounged beneath a tree of the elven forest. "Might even say she was infatuated."   
The elf laughed and swung down from the branch where he had been sitting. Hanging upside down by his knees he regarded the knight who returned his merry gaze with a wry smile. "What is between Keren and me can hardly be termed infatuation. She is much too clear sighted for such illusions."   
"I’ve heard of elven women consenting to marry mortal man, but never mortal woman an elf."   
"Alas, it has happened and elves are not proud to say it. Under influence of the enemy, many things were done which should not have been. In fact there are some among us who think it possible the creatures known as hobbits, or halflings, are descended from the union between Avari and mortal women. We do not know of a certainty, though." Starfoot swung slowly from his branch, straightened his legs, flipped and landed on his feet. “But to us, mortal women seem so frail that we guard them as sisters or daughters."   
"Yet more to you is Keren than sister or daughter. That’s plain. Else why would you risk so much on her behalf?"   
"They say elves are nosy gossips," laughed the elf and sprang once more into the tree, grabbing a branch high over his head as it swayed in the breeze.   
"But is it not true?"   
"Oh verily, but what should not be, is best if it were not. She would have a long life, but not with me," answered Starfoot, his voice tinged with sadness, but only briefly for he continued brightly "With you she would live quite happily the full number of her years. You have no wife. Middle Earth could use as many such as yourself as may be born. Do not mistake my meaning. I would not thrust the two of you together against your will, and you also must meet with the approval of her father and brothers, but as brother/father/friend, it is my duty to point out a good match when I see one."   
Brogan gaped at the elf, then sprang to his feet. "The courtesy and generosity of elven folk amazes me, for it is common that a man say 'if I can’t have her, no other shall.' Having seen the two of you together and the delight you have in each other's company, I refused to allow any such thought of her into my mind. Would that she gazed on me as she looks at you."   
"You need not fear of her affection for she speaks comfortably to you. As easily as she converses with me. In fact, I would not be speaking thus if I did not know she but needs to hear you regard her well, and not merely as a madwoman who ran off chasing elves."   
Brogan laughed merrily. "No possibility I should say such a thing. I’ve heard the story of how she came here and if I were not kindly disposed toward elves, I should seek out those who harassed her and give them a well deserved lesson on how to treat womenfolk properly."   
"My lord Morfindel has already chastised them in other ways. You need not trouble yourself. But the day progresses and our time of rest has ended. You at least must return to the counsel." With that the elf dropped to the ground and together they set off for the elven halls. 

The counsel proceeded into the late hours of the night when at last the elven lord and his counselors came to a decision. In relief, one of the elves called for a feast to celebrate the occasion and all concurred. Keren knew the elves would be making merry until dawn and since the time was well past midnight she bade her brother and those near a good night.   
"May I escort you?" asked Brogan. "To your door, that is."   
"Of course. I would be glad of your company."   
They walked together through the moon lit trees, speaking of this and that. He told her of his family who lived near Duinbar at one time but moved north when his father took up service of the King. They would have moved to Fornost, but Broluin counted it too dangerous a place for his family to dwell. So they remained in his family estate near Evendim. Brogan and both his brothers, one older, one younger, were knights and all were concerned about the decisions within the realm. They feared goblins would take advantage of the dissension, were doing so even now as the trouble at Barad Lomin suggested. Many in the kingdom paid heed to warnings that maybe a dark hand guided them, but few would venture a way to stop it.   
"What says the King?" asked Keren.   
Brogan laughed weakly. "He also sees much which troubles him, yet his counselors advise him to concern himself primarily with border matters and endeavor to reunite the three divided provinces. Most knights of Cardolan would accept such a reunion as long as they may still answer to their prince, but Rhudaur speaks against it. The line of the kings no longer exists there. I think Malvegil will not lay claim to all three, for should he do so he must have power to stand behind the claim."   
"Is the kingdom truly so weak?"   
"Weak? Well, not exactly weak, for we are able to hold our own together. But to draw in more would be difficult. And rumors, as I told you, reach many of us. We are not dismayed, but must remain watchful. We’ve heard of a great Witch King in Angmar, risen up in the northeast and possibly behind the strife with Rhudaur, but..." Here Brogan ceased talking abruptly, looking at Keren. "Forgive me. I had forgotten you’re a woman and doubtless have no interest in such things. But you listen well. I see why the elves are much taken with you."   
"I know not of elves being taken with me, but I’m very interested in what you say. My mother's kin lives to the north and as you know, my brothers are knight also. And let me assure you, if you had spoke as to bore me, I should have bid you good night long ago, for we’re at my door."   
"Oh. So we are."   
"But tell me of this Witch King. My brother mentioned him several times but only briefly. He said he wished not to frighten me needlessly.  
"Well, I would say the same for I also like not to speak of him," he stammered and then laughed at himself "Brogan, you fool," and sighed, bowing to her. "I bid you goodnight, lady."   
"I’m no lady, but goodnight to you, sir," she curtsied.   
An awkward moment passed, Keren smiled and stepped into her room, shutting the door quietly. Brogan stood without, sighed again and turned to go to his own place of rest. A merry chuckle halted his feet and he turned to face Starfoot and Keren's brother.   
"You woo nicely, my good knight." laughed Starfoot. "Now tell me, what are your intentions toward my sister/daughter/friend?"   
Argus cleared his throat softly. “That also was my question.”   
"Intentions?! I’ve not thought to have intentions. Why ask you, old man?"   
Keren's brother looked quizzically from elf to fellow knight. The elf laughed and quieted himself for they were yet not far from Keren's door. "A pity, for you should have intentions. If not, I shall have them for you, but come, friend Brogan. The hour is late and we elvish folk would have all you mortals tucked in and sleeping so we shall not need to worry over you while we greet the dawn. My wound is healed and I must make up for lost time. Goodnight!!!" So saying, the elf bustled the knight into his quarters and shut the door behind him.   
"So what say you," Starfoot asked, turning to Argus. "Is he a suitable match for Keren?"   
The knight rubbed his chin. "She's been threatened with worse, hasn't she. I'd like a few words with my father about that. Others speak well of Brogan, and I’ve served with him several years. We shall see. But come, lets to the merry making. I'm not yet weary. Would you consent that a frail mortal join in the festivities?"   
"I would be honored, friend knight," answered Starfoot and bounded forward, pulling Argus after him. 

******* 

Goblins groveled nicely, thought Millerson as he sat on a stone seat they had carved for him. After fighting with the elf, he had intended to go straight to Rhudaur and confront this Master they spoke about so often. On the way he met three goblins who, when smelling the elvish blood on his knife, swore to serve him to the end of their days, or his days, whichever came first. They would be his body guards if he wished when he returned to wreak vengeance upon the ones who slew his father, mother and uncle. Besides, they were going in that direction and enjoyed the prospect of advancement.   
Upon his return, Millerson brandished the knife for all to see and shouted “When you saw this elf, you fled from him! I have slain him! And yet you slew my family in vengeance! I have not wronged you! You have wronged me! Let those who slew and consumed my family be brought forward!”   
The command was obeyed. Five trembling, sniveling goblins dropped to their knees before him.   
“Tormog commanded it!” shouted one.   
“I thought as much,” said Millerson, turning to his former contact as he was shoved forward.   
Tormog did not grovel, but answered quietly. “And so I was commanded. If it appeared you were proving false, we were to attack your kin. You must admit, you did appear false cowering behind that elf.”   
“As did you, running from him,” growled Millerson.   
“So we’re even indeed. What do you want?”   
“To command you.”   
The goblin sneered and laughed. “This is indeed what the Master wanted. We’ll consent, now that we know you’re truly one of us.”   
Since that time the goblins had been busy. They excavated him a room in one of the caves and furnished it with anything he wanted, stolen from the surrounding towns. Now that it was finished, he no longer needed to return to Barad Lomin at all. Messenger goblins and crows came from Angmar, bearing instructions and information for Millerson to obey and use. With a little instruction from Tormog, Millerson learned to understand their languages. This Witch King of Angmar was a crafty one, thought Millerson. With the greatest of pleasure would he carry out his orders, to the letter.


	11. To Make Things Right

To Make Things Right

Though the elves and knights had determined what they should do in a single meeting, they required several more days to decide how to go about it. Finally, they decided that they should openly travel to Barad Lomin and meet with the magistrate. As the injured party, Starfoot should go. Keren also and Neldoras and such others as he would choose. The knights would all go as representatives of the king and prince. Morfindel himself would have gone but his advisors protested vehemently, and even Orodin, the chief scribe and master of the archives who usually sat in silence during counsels, voiced many reasons why he should not go. The elf lord raised an eyebrow then laughed, which he had not done in many days, and conceded to their wishes.  
A day was set and preparations made. They would have put Keren in a cart or palanquin but she suggested she also should ride upon a horse, since it might be best none knew a woman traveled with them. Lurisa supported Keren in this, offering her mare, Hithmir as Keren’s mount. Wearing the clothing of her brother, as when she first set out from home, none but the company could tell any but elves, men and a squire rode with them.  
As the sparrow flew, Barad Lomin was some 60 miles from Dor Luin. The roads and paths, however, made the journey somewhat longer. The company set out early in the morning, paused a few hours to let the knights and their horses rest and on the evening of the next day they trotted past the old inn, toward the ferry. All the rafts were on the opposite shore but the elves were not deterred. Two ran lightly across the rope bridges and brought the ferries across. Obediently the elven horses embarked and waited as they were hauled to the other side. The knights rowed across, but the elves ran across the rope bridges and laughed at the knights who toiled, pulling and hauling on the oars and poles. Keren’s brother suggested that perhaps the elves might speed things up by helping. Neldoras agreed. He and Starfoot jumped from the bridge, landing on the deck of a raft with only one knight and took up the oars. The other elves followed suit.  
On the other side the horses stepped calmly onto the pier and waited. When all were present on the south river bank, they rode at a brisk canter the remaining miles up the road which wound in switch backs to the crest of the hill where they entered Barad Lomin. It caused quite a stir when they reined their horses in front of the town hall. No one had knowingly seen a single elf in many years, yet here were 20 with ten knights and a squire besides.  
The magistrate came out to meet them and apologized that his office and court were too small to contain such a large company. The only building large enough was the great hearth room of the Ringing Well. A messenger ran, and returned quickly with news that they were expected at the inn at their leisure. Tables were set and all who were not needed would be sent out upon their arrival.  
Of the townspeople only the magistrate and the local lawyer were deemed necessary but three others were invited to sit in as witnesses. Green, Smith and Barber were selected by lot and took seats at the back.  
The first order of business was to hear the purpose for all these elves visiting their town. Neldoras stated their grievance and Millerson was sent for, but could not be found.  
"Well, this is a fine thank you!" said a voice from the door. It was Jack. "Here we have been, toiling for the mill and our kindred come and do not send for us."  
Neldoras laughed. "We did not wish you to be known just yet. Come in Jack Frost, for we would hear what you know about Millerson."  
"I know not where he is. Sam and I have taken turns watching for him, but he hasn’t been seen for several days. Perhaps Starfoot can find Millerson more easily than any of us," said the young elf.  
Starfoot agreed to guide them to the place where Millerson had tried to waylay him.

While the important town figures held counsel inside the tavern, those outside stood about and talked quietly. They had watched amazed as the elves stopped their horses in front of the town hall. The old wine merchant stood with them and followed them to the Ringing Well, watching as the knights and elves entered. Mr. Barber, the tavern keeper, blocked the entrance, apologetically saying he could not admit any other than those appointed by the magistrate. Old Vines nodded and turned aside. Several of the horses could be seen across the way, nosing about the drinking trough outside the tower. One wore a jeweled head stall which made old Vines think of another elf and horse he had seen. He walked over to the animal and ran a hand lightly down its shoulder. The horse turned its head and whickered softly. The trough was empty.  
"So elven horses thirst also," said the old gentleman. He called a couple of his grandsons and bade them fetch buckets of water for the horses. They obeyed gladly and ran back and forth from the well to the trough until the horses had drunk their fill. Old Vines was delighted to find that the elven horse understood his speech and asked it several questions which the horse answered by tossing its head up and down or from side to side. Presently the elves and knights came out and the old wine merchant turned to face the elf he had seen as a boy. A little flustered he stepped back from the horse.  
"I hope I have not been presumptuous, but the horses were thirsty."  
"Not at all. You have put us in your debt," said Neldoras, then looked closely at Vines. "Was it you I saw, or one of close kin?"  
"You remember! I was the boy. The old man was my grandfather. He loved to hear elvish singing. All my life I have hoped to see you again and perchance to ask what errand sent you out on that twilit evening. Perhaps you have other business but it would please me if you and your elves at arms might sample my wines before you return to your realm.  
"That would please me also," said the elf and bowed to the man. He then mounted his horse, as did the others and rode away south, all but one who sat astride his horse looking at Old Vines and smiling.  
"Do you not recognize me?" he asked presently and the voice was strangely familiar. "Oh come now, old friend Vines. Can you not recognized the voice of the daughter of your old friend Woodman?"  
"Well!" laughed Old Vines. "A rumor spread that you were held hostage by elves. I see I was correct in thinking you in their care, rather than their captive."  
"So it is. I go to visit my family but hope to visit with Reina soon."  
"Be off then," laughed Old Vines and waved her away. "We shall hear all your tale before we allow you to run away with the elves again."  
She waved to him and spoke to her horse who set off at a comfortable single-foot.

The group rode the short miles to the marker where they were met by Sam who heard them coming. Neldoras commanded all to conceal themselves and he with a few others would proceed to the shack.  
They were gone perhaps an hour when a cry arose from the midst of the woods, followed by a thrashing and crashing. A goblin ran out and met a score of drawn swords and pointed arrows.  
"Slay it not!" shouted the captain, who followed in swift pursuit of the creature. "Perhaps it will answer a question when put to it."  
The goblin froze at this unexpected statement. "Well, perhaps I will," it said.  
"Where is Millerson?" demanded Neldoras.  
"Oh, easily said. I will take you to him, if..."  
"If what?"  
"You promise to release me."  
"I will not bandy promises with the faithless likes of you," said Neldoras, pointing his sword at the goblin. "Either you will lead us to him or I will slay you now!"  
The creature snarled and leaped away. He fled no farther than a few yards before the elven archers struck him down. Having caught sight of other goblins in the woods, the elves left the body where it lay and sprang after them. Five more they caught and slew that day but Millerson they found not. A guard was set to watch the shack where Millerson was known to meet the goblins and the rest ranged over the country, not willing to permit the goblins to retain a stronghold in the region. They came upon the ravine and searched it for signs of habitation. Many there were to be found for the goblins were overconfident in the country folk's aversion to the place. A concealed entrance to a cave they found also and again set a watch, hidden in the trees.  
"My heart misgives," said Starfoot, "for I fear what was done to Millerson's father and uncle may occur again."  
"As do I," said Neldoras and calling all save the watch they raced back to Barad Lomin.

Keren had gazed longingly toward her father's house as they passed it and now she galloped back, her elven horse sensing the reason for her desire to hurry. At the gate, the horse leaped over and bore her to the door where she swung down to meet Morwen as she came out. They squealed and laughed and wept, hugging each other tightly. Even her normally gruff father shed his grim demeanor and drew her into the house where they insisted she tell her tale while a nephew ran to fetch the rest of the family. When all were gathered she was compelled to start over but none minded who heard twice for many things were added which had been left out of the tale in brief.  
Outside, Lurisa’s horse looked on brightly, then trotted to the meadow where Woodman's own horses stood watching and listening. There the beasts visited after their own manner and exchanged such news as they would, then set to grazing, flicking their ears this way and that, for even tame farm horses are ever alert for any wild thing which may approach.  
Now, anyone who has worked with horses knows they are not the most intelligent of animals. The horses of the elves, however, are different. They are long lived and have equally long memory and are most concerned with the welfare of their rider. Woodman's farm horses were no more or less flighty than was normal and reacted quite naturally to the scent of approaching goblins. They lifted their heads, snorted and ran. But the elf horse had been commanded by her mistress to guard Keren as she would her own foal, so she lunged for the house, calling wildly as she went, pawing at the door. Woodman was afraid of the elven creature, thinking it had gone mad but Keren recognized the horse's distress and went to see what was wrong. The horse jumped and snorted, dodging here and there, throwing her head as horses do.  
"What...?" Keren began but an arrow from a goblin bow striking the wall by her head answered before her question was uttered. "Go! Get the captain if you can!" she ordered the horse in the elven tongue. The horse tossed her mane once again and with a few jumping leaps sped across the yard, over the gate and was galloping at top speed toward town.  
Keren shut the door and latched it. "You still have the sword, bow and arrows you used in the Kings service," she called to her father.  
Without a word he nodded and went to fetch them from a storage room. He gave them to two of his sons. He took his hunting bow from its hook, handed it the third of his sons and sent the daughters-in-law looking for anything else which could serve as weapons.  
Uttering horrible screams and cruel laughter the goblins were upon them, chopping at the door with their axes. The children wailed in their mothers’ arms but Keren gave a kitchen knife to each of her sisters-in-law, telling them to defend themselves if they could. Two of her brothers set themselves at the ready, back to back, arrows aimed at the front and back doors. Her other younger brother took up his father’s sword. As the goblin axes chopped, they waited.  
Keren and her father, conferring on what else they could do, took all the lard they could find from the pantry and put it in a pot on the fire. It had only begun to bubble when the back door gave way and a goblin rushed in, swinging its ax and laughing.

Neldoras, the knights and other men of the town met the elf horse in the center of town and knew immediately what was wrong. With urgent shouts, they were away in an instant. As they rode, the sound of women screaming and goblin laughter reached their ears, enraging them beyond measure. The knights were grim of face and stern but at the same time wondered at the elves, for they reacted to the noise as if their own were under attack, for the screams and cries awoke memories within each elf of a sister, a daughter, an elf woman who had been dear to them, taken by goblins long ago and never seen again.  
They came upon the goblins as they were dragging Keren from the house. She fought like a wild thing against the two who held her. The others had grouped the rest of her family against the house and made ready to slay them. With a shout the elves were upon them. Having no time to turn and fight, five goblins fell dead from arrows. The rest scattered but did not go far. Two more were slain as they ran and three turned at bay and fought but were brought down by Brogan and Neldoras. Two more remained, those dragging Keren away but Argus and Starfoot loosed timely arrows and felled them. Keren fell with them but struggled to her feet quickly and ran to where her father was leaning against the house.  
"Here are three more," called Brogan as he entered the house, slipping and sliding across the floor. Two had died from arrows and one from a sword thrust, but each clutched at his face with a horrible grimace. The floor was littered with pots and cups and bowls, slippery with hot oil.  
The elves outside tended the injuries of Keren’s family while Keren prepared healthful draughts that could be made quickly.  
"Our tale is now twenty," said Brogan, "but Millerson is still missing."  
"Let him be missing," said Woodman, angrily. "It was he who commanded the goblins and to him those monsters would have dragged my daughter, after they forced her to watch them slay us. If I see him, I'll kill him myself, or let him be rent in pieces by his own goblins!"  
"It matters not," said the magistrate. "We’ll find him, but now that I have seen goblins with my own eyes, I say let us rout them out! Pursue until there are no more goblins in our midst. Perhaps in this we shall find Millerson as well."  
All the towns people who had joined the fight agreed. Forming companies, they returned to the ravine and scoured it, searching in every cave, recess, pit and trench. They posted a permanent watch over all the area between Millbank and Fieldbrook, enlisting the inhabitants of those two villages, who had been too afraid to do anything but lock their door and stay inside after dusk. Now that Barad Lomin was up in arms, they followed suit.   
The knights, together with Neldoras, drafted a report to King Malvegil in Fornost and to the prince of Cardolan, telling them of the events of that night and warning them of goblins in their midst which were most likely the cause of so much of the unexplained pillage and mischief in their lands. When the message was written, copied three times and sealed by the magistrate, the town lawyer, Neldoras, Starfoot and Brogan set off to deliver it, riding swiftly into the night.


	12. Hunting Goblin

Hunting Goblin

The message was delivered but, put briefly, it was lost in the myriad other messages to King Malvegil. When the king discovered they wanted nothing but to inform him of events in part of his realm, he thanked them, but Rhudaur was close at hand and making threatening gestures. Duinbar was too far away to worry about just now, for the king’s knights were already too thinly spread. The prince of Cardolan responded in like manner, saying “why should I be concerned over some far flung town most people have never heard of when war is a constant threat at our very doorstep?” The messengers returned to Barad Lomin and the elven realm much discouraged. Morfindel was very displeased by the lack of concern shown by both king and prince. On a day not long after, he called Neldoras, Elmoth and Lurisa to him in the archives.   
“We must become more than watchful,” he said. “I like it not that Millerson escapes. And I think we have not found all the goblins, but should we go as a host, they will only conceal themselves again. Perhaps one may succeed where many fail. If I return not, Elmoth, you will take up leadership of my realm, for though you appear young, you are of even greater lineage than I. And from this day forward, I will call you by your true name. If Morfindel should not return, then Glorfindel shall lead.”  
Elmoth looked troubled but nodded. “I will permit that I be called by my name, but only if you do not return.”  
Neldoras adamantly agreed with this and Morfindel nodded assent. Lurisa took her husband by the arm as the others went out.  
“I pray you, be not quick to put yourself in danger,” she said, “for my joy in Middle-earth depends upon your presence here.”  
“I will do what I must, but fear not. The enemy is yet few. I name a successor only as a precaution. Nothing more. I would not leave you for even a day, but the need is great. I feel it, in the water, in the earth, in the air. There will be greater danger if we ignore it now.”  
“As you will, my love.”  
After quietly spending the remains of the day with Lurisa, Morfindel called his horse and carrying a longbow, quiver of arrows and dagger, he set out at dusk toward Barad Lomin. Only one elf witnessed his departure. Being warned by Neldoras and Elmoth, and determined that his lord should not go alone, Starfoot took the sword from before Morfindel’s chair on the dais and followed.

All day in Barad Lomin, the bells of the tower chimed at odd times, ringing the hour, then a few minutes later playing a tune. No one remembered that happening before, except Mr. Brown who commented that a similar tune played the day Ereg came to them. And Ereg turned out to be an elf. And was it not true that occasionally a low, resonant tone emanated forth, had done so for many years? And had not the bells tolled at odd times before, when Millerson was up to no good? When the old teacher mentioned this he was mocked to silence.  
“Oh, go home and read your books,” laughed Barber, the proprietor of the Ringing Well. “Everyone knows bells are nothing more than objects of metal. Someone has to be ringing them. No need to use elves among us to explain a child’s prank.”   
The other men and women agreed, though none could discover who was responsible. Several boys were hauled by the shirt collar to the magistrate, only to be found innocent when the bells chimed again.  
Late that afternoon Barber held court at the bar as his patrons discussed more odd goings on by the river. A raft, one of the oldest and best, had come untied and moved away from the pier. No one would have thought anything of it, other than to take a boat to fetch it. But the raft was moving upstream. And they heard a clear tenor voice singing in a language they could not understand, to the tune the bells had been chiming all day. The voice sang softly, like someone who was not overly proud of his skill as a singer, but carrying far so that they heard every word. A man rode out of the trees on the other side of the river, on a marvelous gray horse with black mane and tail. They’d never seen its like. Its fluid grace put to shame even the swift messenger horses used by the magistrate’s couriers. With neither saddle, nor bridle, it carried its rider on to the ferry, which came ashore at the far dock, and patiently stood while the boat drifted across.   
“What you may say of the horse, I’m sure you know, but saw you the man?” asked Mrs. Green. When the men said they were too much noting the beast, Mrs. Green clucked her tongue. “As you would. I suppose only a woman would notice him. A lovely thing he is too. Puts me in mind of our elvish visitors from not long ago. But never have I seen the likes of him, with a head of hair so black. And face as comely as any woman, yet manly if you catch my meaning. I suppose none of us could venture the age of an elf, but he looked to be perhaps thirty. In his prime, so to speak. Were I a young lass, I’m sure I’d have swooned away in his presence. As it was I’m afraid I foolishly blushed. Haven’t done that in years.”  
“None of us were close enough to see him clearly,” said a ferry attendant. “How did you manage to draw so near?”  
“Drawing water from the well, I was, when he rode his horse inside the tower, and up the stairs.”  
“He did not!” exclaimed Mr. Green, Mr. Brown and Mr. Barber. Several other men made noises of equal disbelief.  
“He most certainly did,” retorted Mrs. Green. “Without a flinch, that horse you admire so passed under the arch which I was leaving. My eyes met those of his rider, that’s when I blushed like a school girl, and sure footed as you please, bore his rider around and up all seven flights to the very top.”  
“I did see him up there too,” added the ferry man. “Singing he was with the bells, and laughing. And talking to them in that language we heard before. I saw the horse lower his head and let the man swing his leg over to drop down. Never have I seen horse and rider work together in such unison. Up on that top level, under the roof that shelters the bells, this horse cocked his hind foot like horses do at rest and stood quiet. Like being seven levels up was no cause of fear. What I would give for a horse like that.”  
“There! See? I told you...” Here, Mrs. Green halted, for through the door of the tavern they heard that same voice, singing:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
silivren penna miriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-diriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, si nef aearon! (from The Fellowship of the Ring, “Many Meetings” by JRR Tolkien)

The voice ceased, and almost shyly, Morfindel stepped into the doorway. “Please pardon my intrusion.”  
In stunned silence the tavern patrons gaped at the elf. The door was high, having been built by tall Numenoreans in a past age. Were he but a few inches taller, he would have had to stoop to enter. A mail shirt he wore, which sparkled in the flicker of the lamps of the tavern. Covering his shoulders he wore a gray cowl with a hood which was thrown back. His booted feet made not a sound when he walked.   
At last, Barber came to himself. Ever the host, he moved forward. “Welcome! We thought not to see any more of the fair folk for another few thousand years, but you are welcome.” He offered Morfindel a chair and a goblet of wine, which were accepted. “Again, welcome. I’m sure you didn’t come to sample the vintage. Might we be of service to you, in some way?”  
“Only to answer some questions,” the elf replied.  
“We’ll answer as we’re able,” said Brown.  
Morfindel nodded his thanks and began. “Noticed any of you the tolling, at odd times, of the great bell in the tower?”  
Barber, somewhat taken aback by this unexpected inquiry, made a face indicating that the answer was obvious. “All of us. We became used to it. Wasn’t annoying or unpleasant. We thought some mischievous child was responsible. Has it some meaning, sir?”  
“It is a warning bell,” said the elf, his face expressing troubled disappointment. “Is there no one who has read the book of lore of Barad Lomin?”  
“Brown,” said the tavern keeper to the teacher. “Forgive me for laughing at you. It was you who first connected the tolling of the great bell with other things.”  
Brown waved his hands in front of his face as though fending off a pesky fly. “It matters not. But what do we do now, for still the bell tolls at times, be it only faintly.”  
“Has it rung loudly, with harsh discordant tones?”  
“Like a clanging? It did,” said Mr. Green. “Several times, now that I think of it. The night the Old Miller brothers were murdered.”  
“Yes. I remember. And also some time before” said Seamster. “It was late in the evening of the day my son left for Tharbad.”  
“That’s right,” said Brown. “And just as he was setting off that afternoon, I saw him speaking with Millerson.”  
Morfindel looked sharply at Seamster, almost with fear they thought. “Then a messenger should be sent to inquire if he arrived safely. The greater the threat, the louder the ringing. If the bell has tolled for many years, yet not loud enough to reach us in Ered Luin, then a threat has been growing all this time but keeps at a distance.” He stood and moved toward the door. When he reached it, he turned back. “Send messengers to Tharbad, at least two, armed, soon. Tell them to travel by day and night and do not stop along the way without setting a guard.”  
The men sprang to their feet.  
“That will we do,” said Barber. “Is there anything else?”  
“I know not, but there is yet something I must do.” With that, he was gone.  
“Like an angel of mercy, he is, to watch after us so,” murmured Mrs. Green, but the men paid her no mind for they had gone out to prepare the horses.

Weithlo, Morfindel’s horse, trotted up to him bearing the weapons given to his care, strapped around his neck at the withers. The elf rearmed himself and swung onto the horse’s back. Moving swiftly through the now twilit town to the country side, they headed for the ravine where the goblins had established a stronghold. Many caves there were, but Morfindel ignored most of them. Horse and rider traversed the ravine until the elf found what he sought: a concealed door. One so crude as this could not evade his keen sight, though men and dwarves tromp past without seeing. He spoke a word and an entrance appeared, a dark maw perhaps only four feet in height. Morfindel scowled. “Bow, arrow and sword are useless here. This will be knife work.” The elf gave Weithlo the bow and arrows again,keeping only his dagger, which glowed a faint blue. It was of type which would shine in the presence of goblins. He himself had forged it and many like, arming his host with those remaining in his possession. His own sword, which Neldoras wielded at times, was also of this type and lay at his feet to serve as an early warning sign of impending attack, and had given them time to arm themselves before the most recent fight at the border of his realm. Now, the dimness of the dagger’s gleam indicated goblins were present, but distant.  
In his youth, Morfindel had been sent by his father to the dwarves as a representative and to learn from them anything they would teach. He recalled his days among them crawling through the clean rock and soil, seeking veins of metal ore. Though he had disliked being underground, he became accustomed to it, learning to keep his bearings in the dark through other senses than sight and hearing. Disagreeable as the dwarf caves had seemed at first, they were havens compared to this foul hovel. The goblin stench nearly choked him but he measured his breath and kept a tight rein on his pounding heart, quieting himself. He took his gloves from his belt and put them on without returning the dagger to its sheath. His mithril shirt reflected the increasing glimmer of that knife as he crouched and made his way into the tunnel. The farther in he crept, the more brightly the dagger glowed.  
For a moment he thought of how his father would react to seeing him thus, and almost laughed aloud. Surprised was Caranthir when his son, neither eldest nor youngest, became a comrade of dwarves, learning their language even, but only after swearing himself to secrecy. They honored him thus after he forged many knives like the one he carried, for goblins were often known to invade dwarvish halls. The mithril shirt was also a dwarvish gift, but from another place and time.  
Presently the tunnel became wider and lower so that he had to crawl flat. Voices reached his ears from what could be a chamber ahead.  
“... say? A crafty one is that Millerson,” said a harsh goblin voice. “Same thing said he to me. ‘Quick death is too good for ‘em,’ he says. Make ‘em suffer, he says.”  
Two other voices answered with cruel laughter.  
“Time to check the main entrance,” said the first. “I’ll be back to hear the rest of the tale. Gurbltaur, you’re with me.”  
“Well, don’t be long. I forget stories quickly, you know.”  
Only three goblins, but Morfindel knew there were more. They were becoming bold to go out into the countryside. Hoping to draw the one remaining in the chamber, the elf scraped the ground with his fingers.  
“What’s that?” Then a low chuckle. “A cony or a rat?” The creature stooped down and peered into the tunnel. “Rats and conies knocking at our back door, asking to feed us.” With the agility of one accustomed to tunnels the goblin crawled forward. “Wait a minute, it don’t smell like...” He never finished his statement, for Morfindel’s dagger struck swiftly as an elf can think.  
The elf lord preferred his battles more straight forward, but a cat seeking rats had best not declare himself openly, he reasoned. With stealth he crawled from the low tunnel and into the chamber. A torch burned in a stand by a large tunnel to the left. A table and benches occupied the center. Large earthenware mugs, some upright, some toppled, were set on the table or strewn about the floor. These were not goblin furnishings and Morfindel shuddered to think how they must have come by them.   
Two other smaller tunnels there were to the right. Morfindel found they lead to storage rooms, filled with provisions . Millerson could live here for a year or more and suffer no lack.  
The tromping of heavy footsteps came from the main tunnel and Morfindel silently moved to the side of the entrance, crouching on one knee with his dagger at the ready.  
“... caught a whiff of something and wants... Hey, Bosrip, where’d you... get... to...  
The goblin fell forward, clutching the wound from the elven dagger. Morfindel dragged him to the back door tunnel and concealed him there, then returned to his post. The elf did not have to wait long, for the largest of the goblins returned, swearing and cursing.  
“When I send for you, you’d best come running...” growled the ogre, then stopped, sniffing. Just as Morfindel lunged, the goblin jumped aside, but gave an “Oomph!” when Morfindel’s foot struck his gut.  
“Hey! No fair! Elves don’t kick!” he gasped.  
“Neither do we crawl about in tunnels,” responded the elf.  
The goblin bellowed and lunged. The elf dodged and struck, plunging his dagger into the creature’s back.  
“Forgive my knife in your back,” murmured the elf, “but I never held to many notions of what elves do and do not. And it seems you’ve been done by as you once did.”   
The creature gasped a curse and then died. Morfindel moved the goblin to the back door tunnel and hid him with the others.  
The wild alarm call of a horse rang from the outer end of the large tunnel and Morfindel responded with his own call, heard only by the horse. The elf moved quickly outside to find Weithlo prancing and whinnying, snorting and tossing his head. With surprise, Morfindel noticed his bow and quiver were gone, but in their place around the horse’s neck was hung his sword, glowing blue in the starlit night.


	13. Rearwards

Rearwards

Upon his return from delivering the message to the rulers of Arthedain and Cardolan, Brogan asked Keren Woodman to marry him and she accepted. Old Woodman was so pleased with this future son-in-law that he informed all his friends and relations as soon as a date was set for the following spring. The day seemed far to Brogan, but he wished to contact his friends and relatives too, so the date stood. Laughter returned to the Woodman house with Argus who visited openly for the first time in three years after being estranged from his father over some matter neither remembered. He regaled them with tales of knighthood gone awry, most often at Brogan’s expense.  
On the day of the strange ringing of the bells, they were going about their daily lives and did not see Morfindel ride by, for the elf lord wished to be unseen, though they heard the quick beats of the horse’s hooves and wondered who could be in such a hurry on such a fine evening. Later they heard tales of the events of the day from a ferry man returning to his duty, and wondered who it might be. Several dark haired elves had Keren seen during her stay, but the description sounded like Morfindel, who she thought surely would not leave his realm and his lady for any reason. But who could say? Elves were a mystery to all mortals, even one such as Keren who had lived with them.  
As they sat at supper, very late, a knock came at the front door. Morwen opened it and finding the old minstrel, Mr. Ereg, squealed with happiness and ushered him inside.   
Keren looked at him pointedly. “Holly Starfoot, let’s have none of your disguises here.”  
“Oh, very well,” replied the elf, and cast off his old man’s guise.   
Keren noticed the elf was troubled and invited him to join them for supper but Starfoot refused, saying “I have need of haste. My lord Morfindel has sent himself upon an errand which he should have given to another. I like not to think of my lord facing goblins alone, for more than flash of elven light will he require this time. Might you knights join me as his rearguard?”  
Both men stood at once.  
“When and where?” said Argus.  
In a flurry, the men and elf gathered weapons and sped out the door to the stable where Brogan and Argus kept their swift horses. Keren and her father stood out of the way and looked on until the three riders galloped away.  
“Father,” said Keren. “I think perhaps I should follow. They’ll find more of a fight than they expect and a chase at the end, if I know Millerson. He’s crafty as a goblin and with their evil influence, I like not to see my brother and fiancé go so unprepared. The rearguard may need a rearguard.”  
“Do what you think best, daughter. We’ve provision enough. Take a pack animal and your own horse.” Together, the family jumped into preparations, packing food, water, medicines and light tents. Again dressed in her brother’s clothing, she took her father’s hunting bow and her knife hidden in a boot shaft. After bidding them all good bye, she pulled her hat down over her eyes, mounted her horse and, leading the pack horse, set out for the ravine between Millbank and Fieldbrook.

Starfoot arrived first at the ravine, for his elven horse, Nimthalion, was swifter than those the men rode. The moon had just risen when he came upon Weithlo waiting outside an entrance to the goblins’ tunnels, but not patiently. The horse milled about, watchful and nervous, for he smelled goblin everywhere. Weithlo whinnied softly at Starfoot as he approached.  
“My lord Morfindel is the better sword fighter,” said the elven minstrel to the horse. “He might make better use of this than I, if you will permit a trade.”  
Weithlo allowed the exchange just as a goblin bellowed from inside the tunnel. In the distance a murmur of gruff voices and the tramp of heavily booted feet warned of the goblins’ return. Starfoot searched for a place of concealment, but vegetation was sparse. He settled for a shallow cave across the way which did not smell of goblins. He covered himself with his cloak and the color blended with the soil so well that one would have thought him part of the cave. He hoped Brogan and Argus would arrive soon.   
Five goblin archers stomped along the trail at the bottom of the ravine, laughing about the sport they had enjoyed that night. Weithlo uttered a warning call. Quickly, Morfindel came out, noticed his sword where his bow and quiver had been with a puzzled look, but seeing the blue glow of the weapon, he took it from its sheath and sent the horse away.  
As soon as the goblin archers saw the elf, they growled and cursed as they restrung their bows. They’d thought to spend the rest of the night sporting and telling tales of their conquests of the evening. Many arrows they let fly and some struck a lethal mark, but could not penetrate the mithril shirt and bounced off, leaving bruises and abrasions, but no open wounds. Morfindel had to duck and dodge, striking arrows out of the air with his sword when they came too close. Slowly he approached them, hoping to move close enough to strike, speaking enchantments to make goblin arrows swerve from their mark.   
“Younger generation of know nothings!” shouted Tormog from behind the archers. “You can’t slay an elf lord wearing mithril like you would an old man with gout! Aim for his head and legs! Head and legs, you fools! And that’ll teach you to neglect wearing your armor! Where are the guards? The rest of you, circle around up top and come in from behind!”  
Suddenly arrows began to fly from above and from a shallow cave across the way. Three archers fell at once and three more goblins dropped quickly after. Tormog growled with rage. He wore full armor and had no fear of arrows as he drew near to this elf who was ruining years of careful preparations. “Never send an underling to do a captains job,” he muttered, looking keenly at the elf. Suddenly he froze. “Wait a minute. I know you.”  
“As do I know you,” replied Morfindel.  
“A few skirmishes we’ve had already, but I thought you’d either fled west with your female, or walled yourself in some petty realm. It’s been a while.”  
“It has been a while.”  
“I see you’ve brought friends.”  
“They came of their own volition.”  
“Best kind of friends to have. You still bear your sister’s likeness.”  
“Unfortunately, you do not.”  
“Well uncle, have at it then,” growled the ogre, then shouted behind him, “be off with you, Millerson! Take your guards and fly. We’ll not win this night. Now be gone!”  
Starfoot and the two knights were in a quandary trying to hit Tormog, for the goblin and Morfindel battled so fiercely the knights saw them only as a blur moving from moonlight to shadow, the elven sword and dagger flashing blue and the goblin’s red. Even Starfoot, whose vision was better than a cat’s in the dark, could not aim true. The elf lord and goblin captain fought as though in a dance with a well known partner, each matching the other’s moves, neither gaining nor losing.   
“If we survive this,” said Brogan, “Do you think Morfindel would consent to be King Malvegil’s sword master?”   
The elven lord heard the comment and called to them sternly, “After Millerson! Stay not for me! Elendal, follow Millerson!”  
“Millerson, right,” said Argus as he and Brogan raced along the top of the ravine, aiming at the fleeing goblins and striking them down. Three were as heavily armored as Tormog and turned to shoot back as they fled. Forcing Millerson ahead, they came to a crook in the ravine where they kept their wargs and Millerson’s horse. Man and goblins mounted and rode away, scrambling up the ravine and taking flight at a gallop, the wargs nipping at the horse’s heels to make it run faster, as if Millerson’s spurs were not enough.  
Once the odds were more even, Starfoot did as he was commanded, calling their horses and giving chase, leaving Morfindel to his own fight. The elf and the goblin fought up and down the ravine, until at last the goblin grew fatigued.   
Tormog swore at Morfindel and backed away. “I always hated that cursed sword you carry. What do you call that thing?” he said.  
“Elennaro.”  
“Humph. Starfire. Figures. You’ve aged well, uncle,” said Tormog. “Hardly changed from the last time we met, though you might be a bit fairer. You’ve faded some, haven’t you. Last time you were trying to rescue, or should I say kidnap, my mother. Wasn’t long before we drove your father from Thargelion, was it. You always fled from us before. Made me think of you as a coward. Why aren’t you running now?”  
“No loved ones must I rescue here,” said Morfindel, pressing his attack as the goblin gave ground.   
“Loved ones,” sneered the goblin. Suddenly Tormog lunged but the elf side stepped and the goblin only snared Morfindel’s hood. The elf deftly shed it, dodged another thrust, parried and countered. Finally, the spot in the goblin’s armor Morfindel had been focusing upon, trying to pierce it, gave way. With a shout, the elf lunged and the sword struck home, to the hilt. Mortally wounded, Tormog fell, but instead of cursing, he laughed, “And I thought love made the strong weak.”  
“Such has never been my experience,” replied the elf, stepping back.  
“How you must hate me and all my kind.”  
“Hate? Perhaps. In your case I am more saddened by thoughts of who you might have been.”  
“What’s this? Pity for a dying goblin?” Tormog laughed weakly. “Were the roles reversed, I would have no pity for you.”  
“Likely as not,” said the elf.  
“Well, before you pity me too much I will give you this. Just wait 'til your friends run into our troll blockade,” said the goblin, and died.  
“Ai Eru, Iluvatar,” whispered the elven lord. He called Weithlo and leaping onto the horse’s back, he urged him forward as fast as the horse could gallop. They sped over the moon lit ground, in pursuit of Millerson as well as bearing a warning to their companions.

Brogan and Argus raced onward, heedless of direction in pursuit of Millerson. Into the east they rode, with Starfoot restraining Nimthalion to keep behind them, for they being mortal men, the elf feared mishap at the pace they traveled. Making good speed, the knights and elf were within about one hundred feet of Millerson and his guards when, almost as if a new hill were forming before their eyes, the ground lifted itself and stood before them, in the shape of a huge man, perhaps fifteen feet tall and ten wide. The knights’ horses shied away, terrified, dropping their riders behind and taking flight. Nimthalion, being an elven horse, shied also but did not run away.   
“Well, what have we here,” said a deep rumbling voice. “An elf and two knights on a lovely moonlit night. Where might yer be going in such a hurry? And be warned, if yer can’t tell me the password, yer gonna be my dinner. The big boss says so, though he ain’t so big as me in size, yer know.”  
“We don’t have a password, but you’ll have to work for your supper,” said Brogan, brandishing his sword.  
“Eh? The little knight wants to play, does he?” The troll let Brogan come closer, then flicked him in the face with a finger. Brogan’s eyes crossed and he fell backward, senseless. Starfoot and Argus took up their bow and arrows and shot at the troll, but his hide was so tough, the darts ricocheted wildly in unpredictable directions. “Now, yer know yer just makin’ me mad, don’t yer?” said the troll as he swung a huge fist.  
“So sorry,” panted Argus, leaping away. “We were only trying to kill you.”  
The troll guffawed, slapping his knee. “Yer funny. Maybe I’d oughter keep yer alive for a while.”  
“Suits me,” said the knight. “You realize I’ll just try to kill you again tomorrow night.”  
“’Course I do. But what about this elf here. The one with the arrows that sting worse than yours. Yer know yer doin’ no good with them.”  
“I’ve learned never to speak for elves, friend troll,” said Argus and let loose another arrow, which merely bounced off the troll’s chest, its point broken.  
About this time, Morfindel arrived. Weithlo slid to a stop perhaps fifty feet from the troll, lowered his head and sent the elf lord flying over. Morfindel landed on his feet just over a yard from the troll’s huge trunk of a leg and began hacking at it with his sword. Elennaro had been tempered such that it cut through troll hide like an ax through very hard wood.  
“Yeeowrch!” shouted the troll. “Who’s this? Got a bite, have yer? None of that now.” He swung his arm around and the elf lord dodged and struck, circling the troll until the giant became dizzy trying to keep tabs on his attacker. “Yer worse than a stinging wasp. Hold still so I can...” The troll swung again and missed, in return being struck another jab. He waited a moment, then seeing his chance backhanded the elf across the chest.  
Morfindel saw it coming but had only time enough to take a deep breath and leap backward with the impact. He was struck a crushing blow, landing on his back, struggling to breathe.  
The troll stooped down, ignoring the pesky arrows from Starfoot and Argus. “Yer a brave one, with a sharp sword. Must have been made for the likes of me.” The elf tried to scramble backward but the troll grabbed him by the hair and pulled him upright, his face mere inches away. Morfindel gasped, perhaps from fear for even elven lords do not meddle with trolls when they can avoid them, but mainly from lack of air, for if not worse than goblin breath, troll breath is certainly no better and can asphyxiate the hardiest of souls.   
“Not so fast,” rumbled the troll. “Yer in luck I never cared for the taste of elf, but yer know yer can’t beat me.”  
“Never my intention,” gasped the elf.  
“Eh? Whassat? Never intended to beat me? Well I like that. But what was yer tryin’ to do?”  
“Distract you.”  
“What?” The troll leaned closer. “Maybe I’m not hearin’ yer so good. Distract me? From what?”  
“Good morning,” whispered the elf.  
At first puzzlement, then fear shown in the troll’s eyes. He loosened his grip on Morfindel’s hair and turned to look at the eastern horizon and returned his gaze to the elf, flat on the ground before him. Then the troll laughed and crouched low over the elf, as though speaking confidentially to a friend. “Distract me yer did. I knew that Witch King would never deliver on his pro...” At that moment, the first rays of dawn flashed from the east, turning the troll into stone.  
No one moved for a long time. Several meadow birds took up a song. A pair of foxes came out of a clump of brush, saw the troll and four two-leg-walkers and ducked back to cover. The night was over and the elves and knights watched the day break, too tired to speak. Suddenly they heard laughter, high and clear in the morning air.  
“Good morning! So, where’s Millerson?” The voice was familiar, yet strangely out of place. Keren noticed them looking blankly at her so she removed her hat.   
“I thought you were told to stay...” began Argus.  
“You were in such a rush to be gone, you took no time for instructions. And father has grown to regard me more highly of late than he once did, lets me do almost anything I want. And I wanted to follow you, if just to pick up what was left after the goblins ate you. But we’d best see to our fallen before we continue this argument.”  
Starfoot laughed as one will when a hopeless battle turns to unexpected victory and jumped to his feet. He went to where Morfindel lay and pulled him from beneath the overhanging stone troll, then knelt beside his elven lord. His mirth faded as he said “My lord, why did you not send another on this errand? Any of us would have gone.”  
Morfindel breathed deeply several times, setting his battered ribcage back in order, then said “How could I send another on a mission so disagreeable, with an outcome so uncertain? And how is it that one who calls himself a mere minstrel should demand explanations from one he insists upon calling his lord?”  
Starfoot sputtered and stammered until he noticed the mirth in his lord’s eyes and laughed also. “You need to rest and heal. Do not move and I shall keep you company.” With that, Starfoot stretched out on his back on the ground and began pointing out shapes in the clouds and singing songs of nonsense.  
Keren and Argus found Brogan still unconscious where he had fallen. As they approached, his eyes fluttered and he sat up. “Where is that useless piece of work?” he said, coming to his senses at last.  
“Good thing you were knocked in the head,” said Argus. “Otherwise you might have been truly hurt.”  
“Where are the horses?” demanded Brogan, ignoring his friend and cradling his face in his hands, “And what are you doing here, Keren? I thought you were told...”  
Argus laughed. Keren looked at Brogan with loving disdain.  
“If you want a women to stay at home awaiting news and then bewailing your pitiful death, perhaps you’d best find another. I was told nothing. And it’s a good thing too. Of all the goblins you men and elves dispatched, three you missed, other than the ones that fled with Millerson. Had I not come along with my father’s bow and shot them as they crept up on you, you’d have arrows in your backs right now, and my lord Morfindel would still be in a bitter fight.”  
“For which we thank you with deepest gratitude,” called Starfoot, who heard her voice and sat up to observe the goings on. Morfindel raised a hand in blessing and tried not to laugh, for still his chest ached from being knocked about by the troll.  
“You are most welcome. May I never have to be your rearguard again,” she said, bowing to the elves. “And as for the horses, that great gray thing with the black mane and tail which my elven lord rides gathered them together and they are now awaiting us at my camp. Breakfast will be served at your leisure, though I advise we not tarry overlong. Dunlendings have been seen in the area of late, though we’re but a third of the way to Tharbad.”   
“What?! So far?” exclaimed Brogan, gently fingering the bridge of his nose and wincing. He pulled himself to his feet, than sat down again. “Keren, might you bring breakfast to us here?”  
In answer Keren gave a shrill whistle. Again Brogan winced and covered his ears. Argus laughed.   
“Did you teach her to do that?” asked Brogan. “I could have done without it.”  
“I taught my sister many things, which I now do not regret,” answered the brother.  
A short distance away, a horse whinnied and they heard the rumble of hooves against solid ground. Presently their beasts appeared around the curve of a hill, bucking, kicking and plunging, reveling in the cool morning air, racing ahead of Weithlo who guided them from behind. The great horse brought his herd to the base of the hill and stopped them there. Keren ran down to her pack horse, led it to where her charges waited and commenced unpacking and building a fire in the shadow of the stone troll.

*******  
Hithmir knew the way to the Woodman farm so Lurisa rode without guiding her horse, lost in her own thoughts. Over the long years she and Morfindel had separated but rarely and growing disquiet troubled her in his absence. She had been weaving with her ladies in waiting, singing but not merrily for she missed her lord, when something, she knew not what, struck her over the heart. Now elves are not prone to the ailments of mortal man so she at once perceived that something had happened to her beloved, for in ages past when he fell injured in battle she had been so forewarned. Her ladies gathered round her, for she appeared close to swooning, but she waved them away and went to find Neldoras. She would go to find Morfindel, regardless of the captain’s counsel, yet she would have his advice.   
For his part, Neldoras was displeased when Lurisa told him what she intended. Morfindel had commanded him to stay in Dor Luin with Glorfindel, and Neldoras would obey, but he insisted that Lurisa take an escort.   
“Of course,” replied the lady. “One of my sons shall bring with him two or three friends. And I shall take one or two of my maids. Fear not that I shall set out alone, for I would not do that for which I shall chide my beloved.”  
And so Jack Frost, who was Morfindel and Lurisa’s youngest son and disappointed that his father left him behind, called Sam and one named Gil to accompany him. Thistledown would not permit that her mother and brother visit Keren without her, so she and her friend Safronela joined the party as the maids in waiting.   
Preparations were quickly made and the six elves set out. The journey was uneventful. They crossed the river at twilight at the eastern most crossing when the ferrymen had gone home. Skirting the towns and farms, the elves rode toward the ravine, Jack leading the way. The place was deserted, except for the remains of goblins. Jack, Sam and Gil would not permit the elf women to explore far, but when Lurisa spied her husband’s cowl on the ground near a large goblin, she insisted upon retrieving it. Looking closely, she saw that it was pierced through, but only a little stained. Searching more, she noted traces of goblin poison, but not enough to harm one such as Morfindel, so she was relieved that he remained unhurt, at least when he departed from the goblin stronghold.   
Sam and Gil searched the ground and discovered many hoof prints leading to the east.  
“They look to be riding swiftly, perhaps two days ago,” ventured Gil, who spent much of his time tracking deer.  
“Then we had best wait rather than follow,” said Lurisa and spoke to Hithmir, instructing her to go to the Woodman farm, perchance to find Keren and wait with her. This was the road they traveled now, approaching the gate as Old Woodman opened the door to sit in his chair and watch the stars and wait. He saw the elves and called a greeting.  
“Well met, friends. How may I be of service on this evening?”  
“Only to grant that we wait with you and Keren,” responded Lurisa  
“You’re welcome to wait with me, but Keren has followed her brother and betrothed.   
The other elves murmured in surprise, disappointment and concern, but Lurisa only laughed. “Glad I am Keren has followed them. Males of all races need a woman to look after them.”  
Woodman wore a bemused expression, saying, “Perhaps you’re right.” Then he added, “Again, welcome. Rest your horses, if elven horses need rest. Water and fodder are in the barn. We’ve chairs a plenty, though none softly cushioned. Come rest from your journey, for you’ve traveled far, I suspect.”  
“That we have and will accept your offer gladly,” said Lurisa and dismounted. She looked closely at Keren’s father and noted how he resembled her own daughter’s husband. Perhaps, she mused to herself, over the many generations the bloodline had come full circle. Woodman called to a grandson who brought more chairs, though the boy stared in wonder at the visitors. The farmer merely chuckled and gently chided the boy for his slowness, urging him to make haste. The elves were content to sit upon uncushioned chairs and listen to an old knight turned farmer tell the story of his life and that of his family. Much they already knew but they gained much of a knight’s perspective. When Woodman grew tired of his own voice, he asked the elves for a tale or song, as they wished. They told tales of the building of Barad Lomin and the Last Alliance. Presently, all tales were told. Woodman fell asleep in his chair and Morwen came out to cover him with a blanket. The elves bade her goodnight and after the lights were extinguished, they sat as statues, singing softly and watching the stars. 

*******  
Many miles to the east, beyond Tharbad, Millerson changed horses and his goblins were replaced by men of an origin unknown to him. They set off at a slower pace and when Millerson protested, the leader of this new guard held up until Millerson rode even with him.  
“Your pursuers have halted,” said the captain. “There’s not so much need of haste. You’ve ridden long and hard. Best gather your strength before you meet the master.”  
“So I’m to finally meet this master I’ve heard so much talk about?”  
“Yes, but most don’t look forward to the encounter.”  
“Why not?”  
“He’s not lenient with failure, and most brought before him have failed in some way.”  
“Have they now. Well, let’s get on. I’ve had enough dread in these past few days to last me a very long lifetime. I’d rather have done with it,” said Millerson and spurred his horse into a gallop.  
“It’s your neck,” said the captain, and ordered his men to pick up the pace.


	14. Endings and Beginnings

Endings and Beginnings

The return was much slower than the leaving. The knights’ horses were weary from the long gallop, Brogan and Morfindel still felt their injuries sorely and Argus, Starfoot and Keren simply enjoyed the leisurely pace. The year was turning from late autumn to early winter, which in Cardolan was a very pleasant time. The travelers stopped only for meals and short rests, moving like the migrating birds and beasts of the changing season. Along the way Keren was hailed by farm families asking for news, but mainly wanting a closer look at an elf lord dressed in shiny mithril and a minstrel who sang at the slightest hint of a request. Happenings were so scarce that any amusement was welcome. Starfoot regretted that he had no harp or viol, but his singing drew an audience with or without accompaniment. The songs also brought invitations to meals. Had Keren not insisted upon adding their provisions, Argus complained, they could have made them last a week. Brogan was fussed over constantly as soon as Argus told the story of his broken nose.  
As their homeward journey progressed, Morfindel showed less and less discomfort, and Brogan became downcast. “Do elves heal quickly, or am I a weakling?” he asked as they rode along. “For still my nose throbs, and my head aches. Yet you, my lord, seem to be in no discomfort at all.”  
Argus would have responded with a joke but Morfindel spoke first.  
“Elves heal quickly. Fear not. You are no weakling,” said the elf lord and urged Weithlo into a quick single-foot. Something ahead troubled him and he was in no temper for jests. They drew near to the area surrounding Barad Lomin, Millbank and Fieldbrook where there were many isolated homesteads. “Elendal, know you this farm?”  
“It is the home of the grandparents of one of my students from my days as a music teacher,” responded Starfoot, Nimthalion at a canter matching Weithlo’s single-foot.  
“Every homestead we have met so far has been lively with activity. Yet this one is not.”  
“That is strange, for this time of day they were always busy when I visited them.”  
Morfindel touched his heels to Weithlo’s sides and the horse broke into a leaping gallop. The farm was yet about three miles away but such was the swiftness of the elven horse that he covered the ground, swift as the wind, and was at the door when the knights were only half way there. When Starfoot arrived he entered and came upon the elf lord putting long bones into a large wooden chest, bare handed with a grim, sorrowful countenance.  
“My lord...”  
Morfindel signaled Starfoot to be silent as he searched the house, picking up smaller bits of bone and gently placing them inside the chest.   
“My lord,” ventured Starfoot. “Perhaps you should put on your gloves? This was done days ago and...”  
“None here can harm me, except to break my heart, and that they have already done.”  
“How will we know who they were?”  
“It matters not. They died together. We will bury them together. Other farmers and their families who live as isolated as these may have suffered the same fate. We should find them,” said the elf lord as he closed the chest.  
Quietly, Starfoot went out. When the knights and Keren rode up, they noted the elves’ grim expressions and said nothing. Starfoot searched the farm buildings, came out with a shovel and began to dig in a place away from the house. Presently Morfindel came out carrying the wooden chest. He also went in search of a shovel and joined Starfoot in digging.  
“Perhaps one of us should do that,” offered Brogan.  
“Many generations of men may have passed but, through my daughter, these are my descendants,” explained the elf lord. “Few in Barad Lomin are not, though perhaps her likeness has diminished in most.” He paused, looking pensively at the chest. “Had I ventured forth but a single day earlier, perhaps these might still live. Thank you for your offer of assistance, but I will bury my own.” He commenced to dig again and did not cease until the job was done.  
Keren rode forward and hitched her pack horse to a post without dismounting. “Will you come with me, Starfoot?” she asked. “I have many friends who married into farm families.”  
Starfoot consented, handed Brogan his shovel and rode away with her. Argus waited until they had finished the grave, then helped lower the chest and replace the soil. When the deed was done, they rode together in search of other farms, hoping not to find another like this.  
They visited twenty three homesteads where the farmers and families spoke of hideous faces seen in the shadows at night, and distant noises like screams but were too afraid to investigate. All happened on one night. When informed that the goblins were no more, they took courage and many of the more stout hearted joined Keren, the elves and knights to find friends and relations for whom they feared.   
Keren spoke not at all, but wept silently as she gathered bones from the vineyard house of Old Vines. It was very short work, for very little remained. When they came to the home of one of her former suitors, Starfoot would not permit her to enter, instead sending her to find the knights and Morfindel. When she returned with them, they also refused her admittance, telling her to find a large piece of cloth they might use as a shroud. Somewhat grudgingly, she complied. A large tarp she found in a barn and brought it to the door.   
“I am no infant you must protect from...” she began.  
With a shout, Argus and Brogan blocked her view so she did not discover the full extent of the carnage, but the brief glimpse was enough to make her submit to being shut out. Garan, her former suitor, was a large man and very strong who made a valiant defense of his home, killing two goblins. But Garan also was slain. The house interior reminded Keren of the aftermath of a sheep cote ravaged by wolves.  
The elves and knights brought out their shrouded burden and buried him. Keren pointed out the victims’ connection with Millerson, as relatives of supposed friends or known enemies and suggested they look for others like them. They told her to return to Barad Lomin, but she refused no matter how they rebuffed her. Rather, she lead them to several homesteads where the inhabitants were frightened but untouched. A few were like the first house, with broken doors and nothing but bones inside. In total, five of the most isolated were found so.  
When all were accounted for, either living or dead, and all was done for them that could be, many farmers saddled their swiftest horses and rode into Barad Lomin. The elves, Knights and Keren made their way to the ravine where the goblins still lay as they had fallen.   
“Perhaps we should burn them,” suggested Argus. “Though I like not the thought of the stench.”  
“We will not burn them,” said Morfindel. “Take them to their cave, to the large chamber there.” He pointed to the tunnel where he had lain in wait but days before.   
They scoured the area, dragging goblin bodies to the cave or dropping them over the side from the top of the ravine for another to drag. Twelve they found and were glad to walk away from the tunnels, for goblin stench is bad in life, but in death it is unbearable.  
“Well, that’s done. What now?” asked Brogan with a grimace.  
Morfindel ordered them to the top of the ravine. He followed and walked to a place across from the goblin’s former lair. Sitting on the ground, he closed his eyes and began to sing. The tune was low and mournful and the words were harsh sounding even in the voice of an elf. Brogan, Argus and Keren looked on with confusion. Late into the night he sang, until a breeze from the west whispered past and a tremor shook the ground. The rumbling grew until the earth began to shake in earnest and only Morfindel remained unmoved.   
“My lord, perhaps we should step away from the edge...” began Brogan, but said no more, for the caves across the way began to collapse, the ground sinking inward, sealing the tunnels and burying the goblins. Both knights reached to steady Keren and gaped in stunned silence at the completeness of the cave in. The goblins had tunneled extensively and new branches of the ravine opened as their work collapsed.   
“How did he do that?” Argus asked Starfoot.  
“If I knew that, I also would be an elf lord and no mere minstrel.”  
Morfindel peered at them through narrow eyes, as if seeing from a great distance. “I but made a request. The power I called upon chose to grant it. I did nothing.”  
The knights pondered this. What power did he call upon, they wondered, that could, or would respond with such an answer. And what language was it that Morfindel used? They questioned Starfoot but even he did not know, or would not say.   
“My lord,” asked Argus, tentatively, on one knee next to the elf. “Pardon my presumption, but who are you, really? How old are you?”  
“Only Morfindel,” responded the elf lord in a tired voice. “Third son of Caranthir, fourth son of Feanor, First son of Finwe. Old enough to have seen the Two Trees of Valinor, though but a child. Old enough to have held a Silmaril after my grandfather made it, and to tremble at the rash oath sworn when the Silmarils were stolen. With my grandfather’s people I went into exile and lived at Thargelion and Himring until they were overrun. Among the great elven smiths was I counted in Eregion, though my cousin Celebrimbor surpassed us all. Old enough to have met the enemy we do not name face to face, and to have fled in terror. Old enough to have grown weary of being called ‘my lord.’ Old enough.” Morfindel breathed deeply and stood, looking about as though he missed something, then listening as the bells of Barad Lomin began to chime, but not the hour. His countenance brightened for it was Lurisa’s favorite tune. “Let us away from this place,” he said and called Weithlo. They galloped toward Barad Lomin without a backward glance.  
“Never will I understand elves,” murmured Argus, and Brogan nodded agreement as they mounted their own horses.  
“It matters not,” said Starfoot, who also recognized the tune and laughed merrily. “Some of us hardly understand ourselves.” And he followed Morfindel, singing as he went.  
Soon only Keren remained. She mounted her horse as well, but rode to the farm where they first discovered the goblins’ ravages. Her pack horse was still hitched to the post. It whinnied at her as she came near, and snorted. She loosened the pack horse’s lead rope and turned toward Barad Lomin, but wavered. Then she wheeled her horse and set out in another direction.

The messengers to Tharbad had galloped away within an hour of Morfindel’s departure. They returned earlier than expected, bringing with them three men of Tharbad met half way, searching for Seamster’s son who was very late arriving. His wife and her family grew concerned. Somber was the mood in Barad Lomin at the news. No trace of man or horse were found, and all thought by this time, none ever would. As if this were not enough, small groups of farmers rode into town, reporting that the knights and elves had returned, but too late to save them from sorrow. They told what they had seen and heard. Though none doubted their word, not having seen with their own eyes, the townspeople could not fathom that their loved one were taken from them so cruelly. Upon learning of the goblins’ horrible deeds, Seamster doubted not that his son was also dead, loss piled upon loss.   
Lurisa and the other elves were silent as the magistrate recorded names and dates in the town register. Slowly she turned away and strolled to the tower, climbing up the stairs and looking out over the land. Dusk had turned to night and still messengers came from Millbank and Fieldbrook and others were sent to Duinbar asking that knights be sent. With the keen eyes of an elf, she saw them. Suddenly a breeze picked up and within it was a still, quiet voice saying “I hear you.” Not long after, she felt the tower sway as the ground shook. Cries rose from the town and her daughter ran to the base of the tower, calling for her mother to come down. Lurisa refused. The little wisp of a voice she heard before in response to a prayer of Morfindel, long ago in another age. She felt no fear, but waited. The rumbling and trembling subsided and all was quiet. In all this, the bells had made not a sound. She turned to address them.  
“Come friends, let us call our lord home,” she said and began to sing. It was a song in the elvish language calling wanderers home. 

Welcome home, oh wayfarer dear  
Come sit by the fire and rest your feet here.  
All toil and sorrow leave far behind  
Our table is spread, come join us and dine.

Welcome home, welcome home  
Long await we the sound  
Welcome home, welcome home  
Your footsteps resound

Welcome home, beloved warrior and friend  
Cast off quiver and bow at battles end.  
Mail shirt and sword, shining and bright  
Guard naught but our hearth all through the night.

Welcome home, welcome home  
Turn from sadness to cheer  
Welcome home, welcome home  
Oh wayfarer dear.

Many verses she sang until finally near daybreak, far in the distance she spied a gray shimmering shadow, moving swiftly forward. The sun broke from the horizon and with arms outstretched, she said “welcome home, beloved,” turned and raced down the circling tower steps to meet him.

The dawn announced itself by casting a rose glow over the land. The tower appeared as a seven layered forrest in autumn, its outer columns carved in the shapes of tree trunks and the chapiters forming leafy boughs. Wind and rain had eroded much of the finer carvings on top, and mortal hands rubbed a smooth band around the trunk of each tree-colmun, but what remained still left the elf lord in wonder at what he had made so long ago, the likes of which he could never make again. The tower was a wedding present for his son-in-law and he had labored many years designing and constructing it, forging its bells and teaching them to chime and ring. In the center was a cistern to catch rain water, a tower within a tower, a stairway at each of the four points of the compass circled to the top. Often the cistern was left empty, which caused the bells to echo and gave the tower its name - the echoing tower. How his daughter’s husband had laughed in disbelief when Morfindel said it was his wedding gift to them. How delighted the man had been to hear the sweet tones of those bells. For many years Morfindel’s daughter and her husband made their home here. The Ringing Well had been their house. Being set at the crest of a high hill, the tower gave a marvelous view of the Baranduin river valley and often his daughter ran to the top to watch for her husband’s ship. Morfindel kept his eyes on the top tier where now stood a lady in green with outstretched arms. When she turned to descend from the tower, Morfindel touched his heels to Weithlo’s sides. The horse galloped as though flying, so smoothly that his rider would not have known he was moving except for the wind in his hair.   
Lurisa waved her children and their companions away as she ran to meet Morfindel, for she would have words with him alone. They met in a field outside of Barad Lomin. He slid from his horse and hit the ground running, but slowed to a walk when he saw his hood in her hand. His eyes met hers and he offered his hands. In one she placed his cowl. The other she took and held tightly. Placing her other palm flat against his chest where the troll struck him, she said with gentle remonstrance, “beloved, when next you ride into peril, take me with you.”  
“I could not, for if you are not safe...”  
“If you are not safe, then I am not safe, no matter where I may be. When we leave this Middle Earth, we sail together, or we die together. I will not remain without you. Rather I will be like Keren and ride after you whether you will or not. You taught me the skill of archery. Let me join your rearward.”  
He took her in his arms and held her close. “Only in direst need. May it never come to that.”  
About this time Starfoot rode up, followed closely by Argus and Brogan. Lurisa looked behind them and asked, “where is Keren?” The knights turned around and gazed in the direction from which they had just come.  
“She was right behind us,” said Brogan, growing concerned.  
Lurisa and Morfindel stood silent, listening, and sighed almost in unison.   
“Perhaps I should go find her,”said the knight. “It’s not safe for her...”  
“She is safer than ever in her life and you are injured. Come and let us tend to you,” said Lurisa.  
Brogan waved her off. “My lady, I mean no disrespect, but my nose will heal of itself. There may yet be...”  
“There are no goblins here now,” said the lady.  
“How know you this?” asked Brogan.   
Showing a ring on her hand, she said, “This guard ring was given to me by my beloved many years ago, made from the same metal as his sword. Were there goblins near, I would know, for the ring’s glow would reveal them. Keren is mourning her friends. She will return when she is done.”  
“All the same,” said Brogan and, wheeling his horse, rode away.

Keren left her horses to roam as they would, and stood with folded arms in front of the door to Old Vines’ house. Her emotions were in turmoil, anger and grief battling to be the first let out. She went inside, shut and bolted the door, then paused. The bolt was unbroken. Four houses, the door had been smashed in, but not this one. She wondered why, but thought of the trusting old man, and his forgetfulness, and needed little to imagine the scene, Millerson claiming goblins pursued him. Old Vines opens the door and lets in...   
Keren screamed, the scene she created working as a catalyst for rage to emerge, cursing Millerson and all goblins, and the agents from Rhudaur who put him in debt, and the stupid people of Barad Lomin for turning aside from accusing him for so many years, and herself for running when she could have married him and seen to it he never awoke on their nuptial first morn. She took charcoal from the hearth and drew Millerson’s outline on the door and threw coals at it, but was not satisfied and went out to her horse, retrieved her father’s bow and quiver. Four quivers of arrows she shot into the door, until it was pitted and chipped. When she went to pull them out again and have another go, a small object in the corner caught her eye. It was a bracelet made of wooden beads belonging to Reina, Keren’s friend and the wife of Old Vines grandson. Long before Reina married the Vines boy, they made these bracelets for each other. Keren kept Reina’s in a box, fearing to lose it. Reina always wore the one Keren made for her.  
Keren threw down the arrows pulled from the door and picked up the bracelet. Gripping the beads in a hand, she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut but it was not use. Fury gave way to grief. She sat cross-legged on the floor and wept.  
Thus Brogan found her sometime later, still weeping. The sound nearly broke his heart and he wiped tears from his own eyes before opening the door. Keren looked up at him as though caught in some unseemly act, rose from the floor and turned away from him.   
“Go away, Brogan. I don’t want to be seen just now.”  
“Neither did I want to be seen with a broken nose. I will not go away and leave you to grieve alone. I also knew your friend, and many others of the slain. If we’re to be married, we must learn to share such burdens.” He stepped forward and put a gentle hand on her arm. She turned to him and buried her face in his chest, allowing herself to be comforted by his embrace. They stood a long while, even after Keren’s tears ceased.   
“Come away from this place of sorrow,” said Brogan. “And not just this house. From Barad Lomin and Cardolan. I will speak to your father, if perhaps he will let us move the wedding day nearer. Come with me to my home on the shore of Lake Evendim.”  
Keren looked up at him. “At this moment, with or without my father’s consent, I would go with you. Many who would have taken part in our wedding here are dead. I will feel their absence, no matter how long we wait. If you truly wish this, then let’s be off.”  
Brogan took her face in his hands and kissed her. Together they went out, mounted their horses and rode to Keren’s home.

Argus looked after Brogan as he rode away, thinking to follow but guessing his friend wanted to be alone with Keren, stayed behind. He turned to Lurisa. “What news, my lady?”  
They walked toward Barad Lomin and Lurisa told them all that had passed in their absence, of the messengers from Tharbad and how the townspeople gathered to mourn their lost loved ones. No household was untouched by loss. Some were angry and, knowing not where to place blame, turned on the elves but were quickly shouted down by others who said it was the elves who chased the threat away. Jack Frost had behaved well in defense of his father, answering calmly so as not to add to the pain of the bereaved. Much talk of Millerson there was and many of his deeds came to light. All had been cheated by him, or threatened, in some manner. Thistledown and Safronela liked not to be so much in the public eye and returned to the Woodman farm to wait there.   
Presently they came to the Ringing Well. Argus entered first and was loudly greeted by the tavern keeper.   
“Hail, knight! What news?”  
“Most is now as we would have it, but Millerson escaped,” he began and continued telling the whole tale. When he came to the part about finding only bones at a homestead, others stated that already they heard of that and wished not to hear it again. Mr. Black, the town smith, noted the sword and dagger which flashed blue in the presence of goblins and wished he had the skill to produce such a weapon.  
“Once they were common,” said Morfindel, “but most were destroyed in the battle we call Unnumbered Tears. They have become scarce, but such as I have...” Here he took his dagger from its sheath and with a flip of the wrist sent its point an inch deep into a high support beam. He spoke a few words in the elvish tongue and it flashed brightly, then dimmed slowly until it appeared as nothing but a fair dagger. “Should goblins return, perhaps you may have some extra warning.”  
No one spoke for some time but gaped at the tavern’s newest ornament until Barber offered pints all around as the bells chimed the midday. Not long after, a knight came to the door of the tavern and asked to speak with the magistrate. He left his table and went out, wondering who this might be. Then he looked the knight in the face and laughed.   
“Woodman! Have you returned to the Prince’s service?”  
“At my age?” said Woodman. “But how else should I dress on my daughter’s wedding day?”  
“Your daughter?” began the magistrate, looking about at the ones who followed Woodman. There was Brogan in his knightly robe and Keren dressed in a lovely blue gown. Two elf maidens attended her. The man listened as Woodman explained how Keren and Brogan wanted to marry quietly now and move to his home in the north. The magistrate scoffed, “quietly, say you? Nonsense! With all the sorrow and grief we as a town have suffered of late, I say you will not go quietly!” He then called to his assistant and sent him to bring the town register. Other runners were sent to gather as many as would come. Tables were moved about and the wedding couple drawn inside. Mrs. Green and many other of the womenfolk scurried about bringing food and setting in on the tables. When all was prepared and the people gathered the magistrate called them to order.  
“Highly irregular is it to celebrate a marriage on a day we have lost so much. But they have lost no less than any other among us. Dear friends and relations have they laid to rest, doing work which should have been done by others many years hence, not all in one day. We will temper our grief with a moment of joy, and our joy with a moment of grief. Let the bride and groom step forward.”  
Brogan took Keren by the hand and together they approached the magistrate, who opened the town register and wrote in it. He handed the quill to Brogan, who wrote his name and passed it to Keren who did likewise.   
“And now for the two oldest living relations to sign as witnesses,” said the magistrate,looking at Woodman and Argus. They looked at each other and turned to Morfindel and Lurisa.  
“It’s our custom for the family patriarch to sign the register giving consent to the marriage,” said Woodman, handing the quill to the elf lord. “Keren tells me you are our patriarch.”  
A murmur of surprise ran through the room at this. Morfindel would have refused, but Woodman said “please, we would be honored.” To hear the normally gruff Old Woodman so fair spoken set the room to murmuring again. The elf looked long into Woodmen’s eyes, then bowed and wrote his name in elven script, as did Lurisa also. Then all turned to face the west. Morfindel stood behind bride and groom and placed his hands on top of Brogan and Keren’s head, speaking the marriage blessing in the elven tongue.  
The wedding feast was subdued with no loud laughter or raucous merry making, but plenty of food provided by the womenfolk. Starfoot sang many songs with his former students and Mr. Brown, the teacher. Stories were told and many wanted to hear the history of Barad Lomin anew from one who built it so long ago. Lurisa knew who descended from whom and explained the intricate connections the people of Barad Lomin had with her daughter. Many were shocked to discover even Millerson could trace his line to her.  
Afternoon became evening and the elves made ready to depart. Keren, Brogan and Argus would ride with them and said their farewells to friends and family. The company stopped at the Woodman farm where Keren gathered such things as she wanted. Lurisa gave her guard ring to Morwen, saying “perhaps you may have need of it one day.” As the elves rode away with his daughter Woodman sighed and put his arms around the shoulders of two of his sons.   
“Not many years hence, I think I may follow them,” he said.  
“Do you think we’ll ever see elves in Barad Lomin again?” asked Morwen.  
“Perhaps,” said a voice behind them. It was Mr. Ereg, or rather Starfoot disguised again. “In fact, I doubt it not.”  
“Holly Starfoot, let’s have none of your disguises here,” said Morwen with a wry laugh.

*******  
Millerson stalked into Angmar’s chamber removing his sword belt as he went. It was an heirloom from many generations past and he was loath to part with it, which added to his anger. Old as it was, it never lost its edge, able to cut straight to the bone. And even more than this, the goblins were afraid of it and would not touch it. In a single night, saying he would be their butcher, he had set them upon five houses, those who knew too much and those he hated most. With every step, Millerson recalled the face of a victim. Old Vines and a grandson with his snipe of a wife. The grandson knew too much and talked too freely. Two of Keren Woodman’s former suitors and their families. He meant to get the others the next night, but that would have to wait. A young couple who tended Barber’s family home, and had six visitors Millerson wanted gone before they told what they knew of his doings. And Seamster’s old parents with three of their grandchildren, including the little bratty one who pouted when her music box did not play the tune she wanted. Those elves and knights coming along and ruining it all meant his vengeance may have to wait a long while, but he would have it, he swore. No matter what.   
The chamber was dim and appeared empty except for a single chair set upon a raised stone platform, where sat a black, formless shadow. As Millerson drew closer, the shadow took the form of a very tall man, hunched forward with a sword across his knees. Robed completely in black, the figure did not move or acknowledge Millerson’s presence.   
The appearance of the master was no surprise. Millerson had been forewarned first by his goblins and later by the men who guided him. When he had drawn nearer, the Witch King raised his head, eyes like burning coals glowed from deep beneath the hood. Millerson stopped. He knew what to expect, but still the sight of this “boss” made his anger chill into fear. He steeled himself and walked forward until he stood at the base of the platform. There he cast his sword at the black robed feet, took a step backward and waited. When the Witch King said nothing, Millerson said, “I know the price of failure. Do what you will, but I ask that you have done with it.”  
The Witch King directed his hood toward Millerson a long moment. Without a word the black robed figure turned to an attendant, who stepped from the shadows. The Witch King pointed to the sword at his feet and opened his hand. The lackey stooped to retrieve the weapon and gave it into the hand of his master, who inspected it closely as though he were quite nearsighted. Presently a hissing sound emanated from beneath the hood, as if someone were trying to laugh but had forgotten how. The Witch King stood and held Millerson’s sword high over head, gripping his own sword in his other hand, still hissing. When the specter stepped down from the platform, Millerson’s knees began to tremble but he clenched his teeth and fists and made himself be still. Slowly the black robed figure came closer. Standing but a yard from Millerson, he extended the sword hilt toward Millerson. “You have not failed,” he whispered and waited for the man to accept the returned weapon. “This was but a trial and a stroke against the elves which in time will drive them from Middle Earth forever. Do you think we can not send a host of thirty thousand as easily as thirty-seven? What did you expect to accomplish?”  
“To destroy Barad Lomin.”  
“In time, perhaps. That is our wish also. But you have yet much to learn which we can teach. Serve us faithfully, and you may have your chance.”  
“Would that I live so long.”  
“Have no fear. You will get your chance. Take this ring.” The gauntleted hand reached forward holding a ring, the stone of which blazed like an eye of fire. “Wear it for a little while, for it will enable you to know our thoughts, mine and my own master’s. Soon you will no longer need it and may return it to us.”  
“You honor me,” said Millerson as he accepted the ring.  
“We share the same hatred, and you bring us a priceless gift which we return to you for use in our service. Welcome to our host.”


End file.
